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5 



UNDER OXFORD 
TREES 




Cincinnati : 

Jennings and Graham. 

I^eto gotft: 
Eaton and Mains. 









COPYRIGHT, I9II, BY 
JENNINGS & GRAHAM 



ey 



CI.A295250 



TO MY 



' O, birds, sing soft, and, birds, sing- low, 
For she is gone who loved you so." 



I would acknowledge the courtesy of 
Harper's Magazine, Lippincott's Maga- 
zine, Kansas Magazine, The Continent, 
The Advocate, and various other period- 
icals, for the privilege of reprinting in 
book form some of these sketches. 

Jennie Brooks. 



"The world is so full of a number of things, 
I think we should all be as happy as kings." 



Would you know how May to May-men 

Bringing marvels new ; 
Priests behold ! — behold it lay-men, 

What His might can do ! 

He is uncontrolled ; 
I know not if magic is it; 
When His joys the world revisit, 

There is no one old ! " 

— Vogelweide, the Minnesinger. 



Introductory 

We had neighbors, and we rejoiced in a 
"Thrums" window. 

Many of our neighbors succeeded one another 
in an ancient home, vine-draped, not a stone's 
throw away. Big scarlet horns of the trumpet 
honeysuckle flung themselves riotously about 
from every nook and cranny of this turreted 
castle, tall, bent, weatherworn, but with the very 
warmest, coziest corners inside for the rearing 
of a family that could be imagined. From the 
earliest of springtide, tenants began to arrive 
and to study the location, for in winter the rooms 
were empty. But lo! let a wind blow up from 
the south, urged on by Madam Spring, and all 
kinds of birds, on all kinds of wings, fluttered 
gayly into the garden, to peer and pry into the 
heart of the old apple tree stump — first come, 
first served! 

Each new arrival was noted on the instant 
by the lady of the opera glass, from her point 
of vantage (an old cane rocker) in our "Thrums" 
window. "The blue-birds have come!" then, 
exultantly, "Do you hear the oriole's note?" 
Or, "An odd fellow in a dress suit is parading 

7 



INTRODUCTORY 

under the hedge!" and truly, the chewink, in 
snowiest of linen, prinks himself among dead 
leaves ! 

Ah, well-a-day, it seemed hardly fair that I, 
Martha-like, "busy about many things," should 
never be earliest to welcome returned travelers ; 
that my own hands should never first scatter 
crumbs on the gray old window ledge ! Yet, to- 
day, the earliest cardinal that flies in the spring- 
time makes me turn involuntarily to listen and to 
long for the triumphant call, "Come ! the red-bird 
is building!" and my eyes are a' weary for one 
look at a brave old face. 

Spring, and all young growing things astir! 
April sunshine and shade, and nodding flowers 
of lacy white lilacs shake out perfume. 

Pink, and pink the little peach tree tapping 
with light fingers on the pane, and it 's twilight, 
and the branches are full of little wood-birds — 
tumult, and stir, and distress; flutter and fly and 
flutter to the window sill, and against the glass. 
In the valley of the shadow of death, I had for- 
gotten the birds ! 

Morning, and flooding sunlight, but quiet has 
not fallen on our garden-guests in the rosy peach 
tree. With idle hands, I watch them. Spring- 
time, and the birds a month, already, with us, 
missing — (can birds note an absence?) — missing 
the gracious presence at the window. 
8 



INTRODUCTORY 

Indolent, to-day, the fingers that fed them; 
heedless of any bird-call or cry is the Friend of 
the birds. Rocked by the wind, the old chair 
sways slowly, and into the room peer the restless 
folk in feathers. 

April, and it 's raining, and the red-bird has 
come to build ! How she begs and calls, and 
flies to and fro in her bewilderment ! Such un- 
wonted tumult about the house ! Such comings 
and goings! Will no one heed her? The one 
who would dreams happily on midst wealth of 
bloom. 

How she calls, and calls, that persistent car- 
dinal bird! Dazedly I watch her, frightened 
to an upper window ledge, begging, beseeching, 
and I promise, "To-morrow I will help you — 
not to-day !" But she tarried not my lonely 
leisure, and, with who may say what mysterious 
sense of sorrow and of loss, she, too, left me on 
that April day. 

Thus, all my story of the birds is not mine 
after all, but is filled with the joyous memory 
and gay companionship of her who grew young 
with each return of the spring. 



Contents 



PAGE 

I. Outside Our Window Pane, 15 

II. Ways of Our Kentucky Cardinal, - - 36 

III. Fifth Summer of Our Kentucky Cardinal, 59 

IV. Three Brown Babies, - 74 
V. A Night With the Butterflies, - 80 

VI. A Spring's Mischances, 93 

VII. Under Oxford Trees, - - - - 106 

VIII. A Tragedy in the Tree-Top, - - 120 

IX. Bird Ways in Nest-Building, - - - 129 

X. Days With a Mother-bird, 145 

XI. The Flitting of the Wrens, - - - 162 

XII. In a Silken Cradle, .... 169 

XIII. In a Lichen Nest, 182 

XIV. The Trials of a Goldfinch, - - - 189 

XV. Feathered Guests, 200 

II 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

XVI. Gray Days and Migrating Birds, - 213 

XVII. Before the Storm, 223 

XVIII. An Apartment in Demand, 233 

XIX. In the Spring o' the Year, - - - 242 

XX. Troubles in Birdland, 250 

XXI. Chronicles of Summer, - - - - 256 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 



Outside Our Window Pane 

"These are the days when the birds come back, 
A very few, a bird or two." 

— Emily Dickinson. 

On the seventh day of January, in a whirl of 
drifting snow, there fluttered into our trees a 
flock of tufted titmice, accompanied by four or 
five cedar birds. How gay they were ! and how 
jauntily they dashed about, shaking the snow 
from their feathers. Little cared they for the 
white powder that gave them foam-crested top- 
knots. 

"Sweet-oh, sweet-oh, sweet-oh," was the 
weather to them, be it rain or shine, as they 
romped through the snow-laden branches like 
truant schoolboys. Their ruddy sides shone 
warm as a robin's breast, and the scarlet tips on 
the wings of the cedar-birds gleamed like jewels; 
their crests alert and saucy as they frolicked 
about all the morning, now picking seeds from 
beneath the hedge, again dashing at each other 
in mimic battle, and crowding on to the window 
ledge for crumbs. By four in the afternoon they 

15 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

had all flown away, not to return again until 
the red maple buds signaled Spring. Only a 
merry band were they from the warmer shelters 
of the woods, out on an exploring tour, at night 
finding themselves only too glad to return to 
cozy nooks of underbrush. 

January twentieth a pair of blue birds flew T 
through the garden, calling to each other in the 
coaxing tones of love, the male breaking forth 
into the tender notes of his spring song. The 
earliest appearance of the blue bird that I have 
noted, and that nesting ideas were stirring in 
their heads was shown by the way they bustled 
about the branches, exploring knotholes, and 
peeping into crannies. But, after a few days' 
visitation, and a hopeless fight against freezing 
weather, they departed. 

On February second a robin came and wan- 
dered about in the loneliest sort of way, even 
forgetting to sound his usual cheery note, and, 
finding his visit premature, left with dispatch, 
not taking time to acknowledge the courtesy 
when we doffed our hats in eager welcome. 

February nineteenth three robins came, and 
this time they remained with us, though the day 
of their arrival was snowy, blustery, and bit- 
terly cold. This was a "red letter" day, for 
in it the cardinal gave us his first spring song. 
Perched high in the tip-top of the maple, he flung 

16 



OUTSIDE OUR WINDOW PANE 

out a splendid melody, defying the wind and the 
clouds of flying snow that almost hid him from 
our sight. 

March fifteenth the ground was covered with 
snow, but the birds were determined to hold 
their own, notwithstanding inclemencies of the 
weather, and to our door came robins, cardinals, 
two pairs of downy woodpeckers, black-caps, 
two goldfinches, chip-birds, and jays, all feeding 
hungrily on their much-loved "corn pone." In 
February the bits of fat on the grape-vine trellis, 
the pieces of meat and suet had about them 
always a crowd of guests. The yellow fat Jie 
birds one and all disdained to touch, but upon 
the suet they pounced with delight. The titmouse 
first discovered this new edible, and very daintily 
she sampled it, twisting her head about and eye- 
ing it well before she concluded it was safe to 
make a full meal ; but deciding that a meat diet 
was a great improvement over bread crumbs in 
icy weather, she adopted it with gusto. At al- 
most any hour of the day, these frisky gray birds 
were regaling themselves. 

March first the "Least-fly-catcher" sounded 
his pert notes from the quince tree, and a wood 
pewee utters her pensive call. 

April seventh a new woodpecker appeared 
in the garden, alighting on the trunk of a pear 
tree. Neither redhead, sapsucker, or flicker, he 

17 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

yet seemed a mingling of all three. A back view 
of him showed a glistening coat of striped black 
and white, stripes running up and down (not 
crossed, as in the zebra woodpecker), and his 
head was adorned with a flat cap of scarlet, no 
crest. As he flew, we caught a glimpse of a 
yellowish-white breast, and beneath, on the 
throat, was a patch of scarlet. The black wing 
from the shoulder down was edged with a pure 
white stripe, as if one continuous white feather 
reached from shoulder to tip. In size, larger 
than a robin, and his motions were extremely 
swift. His bill, light in color, and his head 
small in comparison with those of other wood- 
peckers. We hurried after him as he swiftly 
took his way from tree to tree, until he finally 
departed. Once, after that, he visited us, but 
we were only able to verify our former notes, 
concluding him to have been a "hybrid" be- 
tween the yellow-bellied woodpecker and the 
redhead. Not large enough for the pileated, and 
without crest; nor was the black of his feathers 
any shade of brown, but the shining blue-black 
worn by the redhead. 

April eleventh the air resounded with the call 
of meadow larks hurrying about in the campus. 
"Hee-eer I be ! Hee-eer I be !" one loudly calls, 
and I follow him over the hillocks to verify this 
statement, when he suddenly rises at my feet, 

18 



OUTSIDE OUR WINDOW PANE 

flies on, settles again, and walks through the 
brown grasses, only to be "flushed" once more 
as, deceived by his cry, I follow up this elusive 
bird. You see just where he settles, but by the 
time you get there, he is yards away. He is one 
of our handsomest birds, and this spring the 
campus proved a favorite spot for nesting, and 
the birds made a great show flying about. His 
gorgeous yellow breast, with its glossy black 
crescent, marks him a beauty, and with his habit 
of climbing up on little clumps of grass and 
looking about him, he is easily seen, and he is a 
tremendous walker, getting over the ground with 
amazing rapidity when he wants to lure you away 
from his grass-hid nest. 

April tenth gave us our first thrushes — wood- 
thrushes flitting in the hedge, and thrashers 
boldly taking possession of the lawn. 

Doves on the eaves April eleventh, and, later, 
they repeated an old blunder of building in the 
eaves-trough, where the floods washed them out 
in the same old way! Pigeons, an eminent bi- 
ologist tells me, are the very most stupid birds 
alive, and I wonder if their cousins, the doves, 
partake of their attributes? 

Red-eyed vireos fussing about the pear tree 
April twentieth, while above their heads hangs 
their last year's home, a daintily made swinging 
basket. 

19 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

Kinglets flitting about April twenty-first. 

April twenty-eighth Baltimore orioles whis- 
tled loudly in the elm trees. First oriole's notes 
resembled closely notes of cardinal. Blithe and 
jolly was he! Whistle, and call, and swing in 
the tree tops, the very spirit of joyful life! A 
dash of gold among the young green leaves and 
tasseled elm-buds, bringing his welcome with 
him. 

Red-headed woodpecker peers out from his 
winter home in the old elm on April second, finds 
the world very sunny and bright, and concludes 
to stay out! 

On the seventh day of April, blue jays began 
building a nest in the elm tree. A robin had al- 
ready laid a foundation, but the jays made short 
work of it, tossing out the sticks and straws, 
viciously tearing away the strings, and driving 
the robins off in a most hateful way. The ousted 
birds then located in the pear tree, and were 
driven from this place also, the jays trying to 
use both building sites, carrying material first 
into one crotch and then away across the lawn 
into the other tree, "dog-in-the-manger" style ! 
This proved too laborious, and finally the elm tree 
held a finished jay's nest. It was fully ten days 
after the nest was built that the female began to 
lay, and even then she did not stay at home as 
she should, but showed every token of being a 

20 



OUTSIDE OUR WINDOW PANE 

young matron who vastly preferred a frolic to 
nursery duties. On the seventeenth day from 
the first making of the nest, she settled down 
to the care of her eggs ; but she improved every 
opportunity to fly off. At the approach of her 
mate with food, she would spring from her nest 
like a veritable "J ac k>m-the-box" and join him 
on an adjacent branch, where, after being fed, she 
was the recipient of much blandishment from her 
enamored swain. Such conjugal devotion was 
commendable, but her eagerness to greet her mate 
brought death and destruction to the young life 
throbbing in the pinky-brown egg-shells beneath 
her breast {occasionally), for, after a prolonged 
period of setting (such as it was) the eggs failed 
to hatch, and the loving pair deserted the nest. 
Highwaymen of the air, hustling out of their 
adjacent homes the most inoffensive of our birds, 
and badgering every blue-bird, oriole, or cardinal 
that flew through the trees, we were not sorry 
that disaster overtook them! 

The ruby-throated humming-bird appeared on 
the twenty-eighth of April. 

Orchard orioles came to the trellis in search 
of strings for their pensile nests on the finest 
day of May. To the great surprise of the olive- 
backed female (such a dainty lady-like bird she 
was!), she happened across the suet hung on the 
grape-vine. Warily she tasted it, and tasted 

21 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

again, holding her head on one side in doubt 
as to its proper use for food. She tastes a third 
time, then eyes it closely, ponders awhile, and, 
in evident conclusion that it is worth risking, 
she pecks at it with great eagerness. (Off she 
darts, returning quickly with her mate.) There- 
after they are daily partakers of the feast, occa- 
sionally joined by their more showily dressed 
cousins, the Baltimore orioles. The female 
orchard oriole is in harmony with the leaf color- 
ing, and the flickering green shadows trick the 
eye into believing her only a gigantic osage leaf. 

The most frequent guests at our "buffet" 
lunch-table are the downy woodpeckers. The 
tiny things clamber, like a couple of mice, up the 
trellis to where the suet is hung, and if there 
happens to be a soft fresh piece, the bird that 
comes first hurries away for its mate, and to- 
gether they return and sit on the trellis, one on 
either side of the tidbit, and peck at it in delicate 
fashion. The jays and redheads pounce down 
on the meat and gouge out a big mouthful, some- 
times dropping it as they find it is more than they 
can really eat or carry. 

May fifteenth marked the appearance of a 
modest woodthrush, who chose to build low in a 
pear tree near the hedge. 

May nineteenth recorded two covetous robins 

22 



OUTSIDE OUR WINDOW PANE 

arriving in the garden, inspecting the site of the 
thrush's home, and, unceremoniously tossing out 
the one small blue-green egg, the female robin 
sat herself down to lay her eggs in this com- 
fortable ready-made nest. The poor little thrush 
fled before the assault of the larger bird, into 
an adjacent tree. Off went the robin for more 
building material, on went the meek little thrush. 
Then two robins swooped down upon her, and 
the small nest-owner dropped disconsolately to 
a branch of the pear tree just below the nest, 
shrugged up her shoulders, and looked so im- 
ploringly at me (raking hay) that I concluded 
it was time to "take a hand" in the affair, for, 
that all the loving labor of that little brown thrush 
should come to naught, was quite beyond en- 
durance. As to the whereabouts of the male 
who should have been valiantly protecting the 
little home-maker, no sign was showing. Ad- 
vancing with a rake, I charged upon the ma- 
rauders, who debated the land, "What business 
of this is yours?" but finally fled angrily, and 
with loud squawkings of wrath, into the safe 
shelter of the tall osage hedge. Quickly slipped 
onto the nest the owner thereof, and, dragging 
together a lot of hay ("King David" was cutting 
the grass), I sat me down to see that the unfair 
robins did not appropriate other folks' goods. 

23 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

"King David," black, perspiring, philosophic, 
leaned on his scythe, delivering himself of a 
homily. 

"When birds gits to fightin', yo caint do 
nothin' wif 'em! Nebber! No, ma'am! Might's 
well let 'em 'lone! They gwine fit it out ebbery 
time jes' lak pussons! Yaas 'um, dey be!" 

"Well, the robins shan't take that thrush's nest, 
Dave — they shall not! Come — help — quick!" 
as the robins, taking advantage of Dave's 
"preachment," swooped down and beat off the 
thrush, who, seeing help at hand, this time merely 
hopped out to sit on the same branch of blossom- 
ing pear that held the nest, where she cuddled 
down into a meek little bunch of feathers, pa- 
thetically aggrieved. I beat at the branches, and 
I banged with my rake, but I could not reach, 
and "King David," determined to make hay while 
the sun shone, declined to join the battle, so, 
while I helplessly scolded, the robins went boldly 
to work reconstructing the nest, or rather, adding 
adornments. A few sticks were stuck in — long 
twigs — and rags, and to these was added a shred 
of white cloth that they tore from the thorns of 
a rose bush, where it had been cast up by the 
winds. They worked like fiends, shouting at me, 
in answer to my threats, all manner of bad words ! 
But the end was not yet. I fell back on throw- 
ing sticks with (moderately) fair aim, and once 

24 



OUTSIDE OUR WINDOW PANE 

more the robins retreated and the little thrush 
slipped on. I dropped upon the grass to rest, 
and in a twinkling back flew the robins, off came 
the thrush, making no effort to defend herself, 
just waiting for me to rise and continue the 
good work. The female robin settled herself 
quickly, and the male stood guard for perhaps 
an hour, the thrush never moving or complaining, 
sitting all hunched up and 'most "ready to cry," 
looking down at me as if she wanted to say, 
"Well, why don't you do something?" So, with 
sticks and maledictions, I ousted the robins once 
more, and once more the thrush "sat." 

I breathless, devoted the hot day in its en- 
tirety, only stopping for dinner, to "fightings with- 
out" and "fears within" lest in the early morning 
hours the robins would gain the victory ere I 
was up. But "up" I was not for many a long 
day, early or late, for the setting sun saw my re- 
tirement into the mazy, crazy ways of typhoid 
fever, with a last incoherent thought of wonder- 
ment as to the outcome for all concerned ! And 
my first coherent question, on returning from 
the hobgoblin lands through which I wandered, 
was, "O, do you know which bird held the nest, 
the robin or the thrush?" But I never found 
out, for when, convalescent, I questioned "King 
David," as, hat in hand, he sat by my bedside 
grinning congratulations on my recovery, (the 

25 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

neglected garden showed the blue grass nodding 
in at the window), he answered cheerfully, "Yaas 
'urn, yaas 'urn, I membahs 'bout dem birds ; but 
I nevah jes' did know ef one or anuddah done 
hatched out!" 

Bird Notes of the Later Year. 
A December Day. — 

The first snow of the season! September, 
October, November, May, all ran together this 
fall and, with hazy days, wonderful mirage, and 
the warmth of a June sun, teased the gnarly old 
apple tree into putting forth leafless blossoms, 
pink, fragrant, fine. A blossom out of blossom 
time ! Spring holds nothing in her hand so dear ! 
When the lilacs, in second flowering, just before 
frosty days, deck themselves in clumpy bunches 
of dwarfed pale purple, scattering perfume stolen 
from April's lap, our hearts go up with a bound ! 
Folk who flee away to the cities at the falling 
of the first leaf lose all the loveliness, the soli- 
tude, the silences that brood over the country in 
winter. For him who will with patience wait, 
snowy days hold marvelous secrets. Flaming 
sunsets ; morning skies flooded with brilliant rosy 
light torched by the sun. Fairy dawns misty 
with hoar-frost ; twig, and branch, and little rus- 
set crumpled leaves in silvery gauze, and birds 
complaining of chilly feet huddling on the 
branches to keep them warm. A line of fire 

26 



OUTSIDE OUR WINDOW PANE 

running through the yellow grasses along the 
river bank, snapping its way through blackened 
twigs, and sending up soft gray clouds to meet 
and mingle with the all-encompassing mist, swept 
through and through with feathers of the snow. 
A wonderful gray day, the whitened meadows 
illumined by the splendid fire of the burning 
brush ! 

These are great days for bird visitors. In 
Southern Ohio, our most intimate bird is the 
Kentucky cardinal. Snow or ice daunt him not, 
and he sings on tip-topmost branch of tallest 
trees, with drooping wings of delight, in the 
midst of powdering snowstorms, the wind rock- 
ing him as he clings. When the cold sharpens 
his appetite, he comes confidently onto the win- 
dow-sill, walking along close to the glass, and 
peeping in over greenery of the plants to see if 
that Friend of all the birds is crumbling up bread 
for him. Samples the suet tied to the shutter 
hinge, that we may easily become acquainted 
with guests. If it is not dinner time, off he goes 
to the back porch, and trails about in the snow 
until some one tosses him crumbs, or corn, or 
corn-bread. Mighty fond is he of that ! Morn- 
ing and night find him in close attendance on 
the chickens. When "Gran'paw" feeds them, the 
red birds clutter about his feet as familiarly as 
the Plymouth Rocks. When the house-wife 

27 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

comes to "shoo" them away with her apron, the 
cardinals merely back off an inch or two, rearing 
their crests in surprise. 

He will eat popcorn on the window-sill, suet 
on the shutters, and boldly squabble with the 
squirrels over cracked walnuts, with which I re- 
gale them both. Our rarest bird beauty is he, in 
winter, surpassing even the gaudy woodpeckers. 

This first snow, a foot in depth, coming on 
the heels of a May day (apple blossoms in No- 
vember), hurried the birds to our windows from 
the famine-stricken woods in tens, twenties, — I 
lose count. Downies, nut-hatches, flickers, red- 
headed woodpeckers, titmice, gold-finches, and 
jays. Trouble has engendered good fellowship. 
In snow time they are very friendly and fearless. 
Bent on satisfying their appetites, they forget 
caution, greedily grabbing at their rations and 
fighting vigorously for first place. A certain 
tiny blue-backed nut-hatch is tame, and comes 
scrambling head first down the peach tree to 
warily light upon my hand, outstretched, full of 
cracked pecans. The wind is high, and the snow 
sifts down over us both; but mighty little reck 
our guests, who swing, and chatter, and stuff 
themselves, rather glad, on the whole, the storm 
is come. Twice to-day have my guests emptied 
the half-shell of a cocoanut, hung to the trellis, 
of its contents of cracked nuts. 

28 



OUTSIDE OUR WINDOW PANE 

It 's truly a "red letter day" for birds, this day 
of snow and ice — this real Western blizzard, with 
occasional shafts of sunlight illuminating the soft 
whiteness of the storm. Into the midst of it 
swings a zebra woodpecker, an unusual guest so 
early. He is one of our largest birds, and his 
advent creates a stir. He alights in the pear tree, 
and begins a hurried and vigorous quest for 
grubs, backing down the tree trunk, not having 
the knack of the "devil-down-head." Follow him 
swiftly all the little folk. A bird of such enor- 
mous size in their own particular garden as- 
tonishes them, and surprise could not be more 
plainly pictured than is shown in the manner of 
these "little brothers of the air." A crown has 
he of rose-scarlet, extending to the nape of his 
neck; sides of neck, cheeks, and breast rosy 
tinted, just a sheen where the wind ruffles the 
feathers. His back is cross-barred in black and 
white, like a guinea hen; hence his other name, 
"guinea woodpecker." As he briskly scurries up 
and down the trees, a cardinal glances up from 
his lunch of suet, jerks his head for a good look, 
and makes off after the new comer, evidently 
intent on studying him. When the zebra wood- 
pecker changes his location, whir-r-r through the 
trees go the entire flock — titmice, chickadees, 
sparrows ; but the cardinal is in yet closer at- 
tendance, and, like a shadow, falls from branch 
29 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

to branch, as the zebra goes up or down the 
tree, looking severely over his shoulder in an- 
noyance at this unsolicited attention, for the 
little birds peer, and pry, and follow on their 
own account. "It 's a plain case of 'new man 
come to town/ " declares our college girl, and is 
laughable in the extreme, showing so plainly the 
curiosity of our bird neighbors. 

Blue-birds in the trees December fourth ; de- 
layed migration due to the summer-like fall! 

February, plenty of snow, very cold, no water 
for birds, everything frozen. Nut-hatches, white- 
breasted little blue-backed birds, red-breasted 
also, on the roof of porch in front of my window 
eagerly eating (drinking?) snow. They "jab" 
their long, slender bills into the snow, then hold 
up their heads as if it might more easily slip 
down their throats. Then they pick at bits of 
thin ice (this is melted snow that has formed 
in thin sheets of ice on edge of roof), as if it 
were crusts of bread, swallowing with evident 
enjoyment the bits they manage to get off. How 
they do love it ! and how thirsty they must be 
to substitute ice for water! We raise the win- 
dows and put out sundry dishes of water, and, 
in a trice, the birds surround them. Wonder, 
do all birds eat snow in water famine time? 

March. All of February, January, and even 
in the latter part of December, we have the zebra 

30 



OUTSIDE OUR WINDOW PANE 

woodpecker in the trees. He has become — they 
(for there are several) have become — almost as 
tame as chickens, and "when the gods arrive, the 
half-gods go." Their hoarse "croke-croke-croke" 
sounds in the trees, and titmice, chickadees, 
downies, even the jays, scurry away out of the 
peach tree where the zebras delight to sit and 
stuff themselves with fat, or suet. 

With his departure, surfeited, back come the 
others to feed. Oftentimes the smaller ones de- 
scend to the ground, humbly picking up the 
crumbs that fall from the rich man's table. He 
does n't fight, this zebra woodpecker, he simply 
claims the right of supremacy over the others, 
and they make way for him as naturally as if he 
had issued a command. Perhaps he has ! 

The chickadees and downies are acrobats. 
How they cling, and swing, on the swaying bis- 
cuit we have suspended by a string to a limb of 
the peach tree. Tails are of no particular use 
to the downies in such case. Serving as a prop 
in tree excursions, hanging to a biscuit in mid- 
air gives no place on which to support them- 
selves, and it 's curious to see how strong is 
habit, for, as they dig one claw into the biscuit, 
and hook the other in the string that holds it, 
the sharply pointed tail feathers curl around the 
lump as if vainly trying to afford support to 
its owner. All kinds of birds, with all kinds of 

3 31 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

habits, learn all kinds of ways, and cling head 
downward, backs downward — any way at all, so 
they manage to hold on and get a good bite ! 

When the hairy woodpeckers come to eat, 
they drive of! the downies, and the tiny gentle- 
mannered downies slip along the trellis, and wait, 
with watching, longing eyes, and with all due 
respect, until the "hairies" leave. "Evil com- 
munications corrupting good manners," the 
downies assume belligerent ways toward the 
frisky little nut-hatches, and if the latter attempt 
to eat with them, the downies leave the suet and 
scramble around to the uninvited guests on the 
other side of the trellis, squawking crossly, "Get 
out — get out — get out!" 

When the coast is once more clear of the 
"guinea," back goes the downy to finish his re- 
past. 

In turn, the sparrows fear the sharply pointed 
bill of the nut-hatches, and cling in scolding, chat- 
tering rows to the trellis above his head while 
he eats, with only occasional daring forays, and 
the saucy, scolding, querulous jay routs them all 
but the guinea woodpecker. The redhead routs 
the hairy, and the guinea routs the redhead, all 
in turn, all day long! The zebras and downies 
come feeding on the porch to our very door, when 
the fat is gone, "dragging their tails behind 

32 



OUTSIDE OUR WINDOW PANE 

them" as they scurry about in the snow picking 
up crumbs. 

Hanging to the shutters "gobbling" suet, 
scurrying up and down the wide bench (that 
stands directly up against my front windows even 
with the sill), picking at the cracked nuts — 
woodpeckers, cardinals, nut-hatches, sparrows — 
every wood-bird, comes, and if none interferes 
with the others, peace reigns ; but let the little 
gray shadow / have spied stealing across the 
road, come silently up the terrace, skip over the 
snowy lawn, slip onto the porch, disappearing 
from my sight beneath the bench, and when 
his little gray head with beady black eyes 
pushes itself suddenly over the edge of the 
seat — presto! in a trice the birds are away! 
Leisurely then milord "Adijidaumo" mounts the 
bench, selects a nut, seats himself on my window 
sill, and gives me a wicked wink of satisfaction. 
"I did that pretty well, didn't I?" 

The last cake in the griddle is always for the 
birds, and it is, without exception, the brownest, 
and because of this is (I regret to say) always 
given grudgingly; but hot, steaming hot, corn- 
cakes are things the birds delight in. The red- 
head carries his share to the top of an electric 
light pole across the street. He lays it on the 
top — exactly; then he hangs to the edge with 

33 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

only his head above, and picks the food to pieces. 
Below him, strung along on the wires, are lines 
of derisive talkative sparrows who enviously 
watch, and instantly the redhead leaves, pounce 
upon the pole to clean up the crumbs. Dozens 
of times a day this is repeated. 

Though wrens make themselves cozy in the 
woodshed, and a pair of cardinals once found 
safe winter shelter under the porch eaves, and 
each woodpecker shifts for himself in his own 
or another man's excavation, they appear in 
hearty good fellowship when food is in question, 
and "pay for their keep" in entertainment all 
winter long — and in summer with their song. 
"Between meals" they flit to the woods, "sky- 
larking," "be the days dark or clear," among 
thistle-tops, golden-rod stems, and russet pine 
cones. 

Neither are winter woods always silent, for 
you may hear the call notes of the many birds 
who stay North, even if their song has ceased. 
The cheerful "Zip" of the cardinal catches your 
ear daily; the hoarse croak of the jay and the 
call of the winter wren. The persistent "chick- 
dee-dee-dee" of the black-cap greets us, and the 
woodpecker's shout ; while occasionally we hear 
a meadow lark or, in warm, open winters, even 
a robin or two. 

The woodpecker sometimes makes an excava- 

34 



OUTSIDE OUR WINDOW PANE 

tion for spring nests in the late fall, on the prin- 
ciple of "a stitch in time." These holes in the 
trees are cozy sleeping apartments for them dur- 
ing cold weather, and ready betimes for occupancy 
by the prospective family as soon as the courting 
is over in April days. I have seen the red-headed 
woodpecker, on a zero morning, thrust his satiny 
head out of one of these apartments and look 
eagerly about him, as though he were gaging 
the weather and wondering if it were worth his 
while to come out into such a world of ice ; but, 
wary of frost-bitten toes, he withdrew his head 
and retired for another nap. 

This particular red-head made a home for 
himself (alone, I judge) in the early fall, exca- 
vating in a half-dead tree opposite the house. 
The female looked on, but eventually settled her- 
self for the winter in the flicker's old deserted 
nest at the top of a maple in our garden. Sev- 
eral times during the winter she came to the 
porch for food, but meeting, the couple took 
scant notice of each other, each "ganging their 
ain gait" at the end of the repast, he to the elm 
tree, she to her nearer home in the maple. When 
they might have been so comfortable and cozy 
together ! 



35 



Ways of Our Kentucky Cardinal 

"Superb and sole, upon a plumed spray 
That o'er the general leafage boldly grew, 
He summed the world in song;" 

"Then down he shot, bounced airily along 
The sward, twitched a grasshopper, made 
song" — 

"Perched, prinked, and to his art again; 
Szveet science this large riddle read me plain 
How may the death of that dull insect be 
The life of yon trim Shakespeare on the tree?" 

Our little bird, garbed in olive tints, with golden- 
gray breast, wings and tail feathers touched with 
scarlet to make her gay, located her first nest in 
our vicinity five years ago. This first nest I 
was able to secure in the early summer, and a 
bird's nest is an ever-varying marvel, each year 
differing in its construction, even though the same 
material may be used. This first one, however, 
was but the percursor of better things to come. 
A new era had arrived, and an aesthetic sense 
was being developed in my lady. The nest had 

36 



OUR KENTUCKY CARDINAL 

been placed in the most secure nook imaginable, 
just under the overhanging eaves. The roof was 
so thickly draped with vines, neither sun nor rain 
could discommode the little Hausmutter as she 
brooded her young. Usually the cardinal makes 
her nest loosely, but, watching the robins and 
orioles busily gathering up strings, this one grew 
covetous, and came herself to the grape arbor, 
daintily picking from the rags the finest ravelings. 
Later we found them twisted into one side of 
the nest. 

The next year we found her again picking at 
the ravelings of the rags we had torn into strips 
for the other birds, and, understanding at once 
her desire for finer material, we hastened to hang 
in cobwebby festoons upon the trellis a few yards 
of spool cotton cut into lengths. Hardly waiting 
for us to leave them, she flew down, and in the 
most dainty, careful way drew out one at a time, 
not taking greedy mouthfuls as robins do, and 
carried it off to her nest, the long thread trailing 
through the air behind her as she went. Her 
delight was evident, and she worked all the morn- 
ing, cheered and encouraged by her beautiful, 
but lazy, spouse, who whistled his loudest in ap- 
probation. 

Our first intimation that the young birds were 
hatched came in the tiny chirpings we heard — 
"zip," "zip," exactly like the note of the old ones, 

37 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

only much softer. A peep into the nest, which 
was very near to the locality of the previous 
year, showed us, some two weeks later, three 
dove-colored young ones. That very evening the 
mother bird warned them to fly, probably fearing 
depredations from us; but we were fortunate 
enough to find one of them fluttering in the grass, 
and were surprised to discover all its plumage 
of a warm dove color. Spreading out the wings 
of the little bird, each quill showed a rosy tint, 
and beneath the wing, also, was a promise of the 
brilliant garb they would put on when baby days 
were over. Until the cardinals are nearly grown, 
the two sexes are very similar in coloring. 

After shifting all responsibility for the young 
birds on their own inexperienced shoulders, the 
old ones began a second nest. The first nest we 
then captured, to find it truly up-to-date, tailor- 
made. 

The second nest showed very little until the 
falling of the leaves, but the locality was an open 
secret, for the male bird roosted in the thick vines 
close beside his mate, and as he would persist 
in his singing, no one was at a loss to tell the 
whereabouts of his home. This bird had, and 
has, the most astonishing voice I ever heard, and 
it did seem that summer as if even the birds 
themselves stopped to listen when he sang at 
twilight. One by one their voices dropped away 

38 



OUR KENTUCKY CARDINAL 

as, just when the stars came twinkling out each 
evening, he flew to the highest tree-top in our 
garden and poured out his heavenly notes. The 
purity of tone it is impossible to describe, and 
his wonderful range and flexibility of voice I 
have never heard equaled in any bird. The ves- 
per song, even, did not satisfy his soul, and often 
when a light shone from our window across the 
vine where he slept, at ten or eleven o'clock at 
night, he suddenly awakened and began to sing. 
Out into the stillness of the night he flung the 
exquisite sweetness of his song. His first note 
was always very high, then a slide down one 
octave exactly, over and over again. Then came 
the trilling, perfect bubbles of music, and a run 
from low C up to B flat and C, in endless repe- 
tition, until, breathless and sleepy, he must per- 
force give over the concert until dawn. But re- 
peatedly subdued half-tones came out from among 
the leaves, as if he were hardly yet persuaded 
that the lamplight was not some new kind of 
sunrising. 

The next year, on a May day morning, we, 
sitting under the branches of a maple tree, sud- 
denly noticed a cardinal bird diligently bustling 
about under the hedgerow. She looked at us, 
then flirted the leaves about in a tremendous 
"pother:" pulled bark fibers, filling her mouth 
with material, then tossing it recklessly away; 

39 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

slipping up and down through the hedge, in- 
cessantly calling out, "Chip," "Chip," and flying 
ostentatiously into the maple above our heads, 
deporting herself in a manner that plainly be- 
tokened a wish for somebody to interest himself 
in her affairs. Naturally, we were the ones she 
had in mind, as no one else was in sight ; so, as I 
idly watched, it gradually dawned upon me she 
must be the last year's tenant of our garden, and, 
remembering old favors, was bidding for new, 
and I hastily ran into the house for some thread 
with which to test her memory. 

I lightly laid the first strand of spool cotton 
on the grape-vine trellis, when, like a flash, the 
bird darted to it and swept away with it down 
into the garden. This proved her identity. A 
new cardinal would have been quite ignorant of 
the uses to which thread could be put, but this 
little home-maker had sampled the material last 
year and the year previous, and found it good. 
Thus, you see, she remembered, and, as her nest 
was not yet started, showed her preference at 
the outset, and also knew where to come. While 
she was gone on her journey I pulled yards more 
thread from the spool, breaking it into lengths 
of a yard and a half or two yards, festooning 
it along the trellis and on the grape-vine. Back 
she came, and almost beneath my hand gathered 
up thread after thread, until she had a mouth- 
40 



OUR KENTUCKY CARDINAL 

ful, then off around the corner of the house. 
Again and again she returned, in a positive 
ecstasy of delight over the thread. She would 
alight on the end of the trellis and then hop 
bravely up to within my reach, daintily select 
her threads, and away she would sail through 
the air, with long streamers floating after. 
Little wonder she disdained ordinary things — 
straws and sticks and bits of bark — when she 
had in mind the lacy fabric she wove on the 
leafy spindle of a maple branch. For she had 
begun her nest at the very top of a young maple — 
a maple just planted and putting forth new 
leaves. 

How she reveled in the abundance of the 
material I gave her! Last year she had shared 
it with the robins, jays, and vireos; this year she 
herself was the "early bird." It was all her own, 
and greedily she appropriated it. Last year, and 
the year previous, she had used it tentatively, one 
thread at a time, watching carefully as the other 
birds had gone away laden with the spoil of rags 
and twine, and contenting herself with a smaller 
quantity of thread, as if she were not certain 
how to use it or how it would wear. Last year 
it was only the finest ravelings she daintily 
plucked from strips of cloth used by other birds, 
and the several threads I gave her on the hint 
she gave me that rags were too coarse. This 
4i 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

year the thread was what she wanted, nothing 
more, nothing less, and before she was through 
with me she had used that morning between two 
and three hundred yards of thread. Last year 
she daintily tested the thread before finally ap- 
propriating it, pulling it over and over the trellis ; 
but this year's eagerness showed her evident satis- 
faction with last year's architectural efforts, and 
also proclaimed the larger development of her ar- 
tistic talents. 

Her royal mate offered no helping hand, 
seeming to think his part consisted in escorting 
her to and fro on her journeyings, whistling loud 
approval ; and as for herself, she kept up a con- 
tinual sort of "croon" as she busily worked. Such 
treasure-trove was not found every day, and she 
made haste to secure as much of it as possible. 
As I unrolled the last yard from the spool, I told 
her firmly that she could have no more. "What 
you have done with the quantity that you have 
already taken is a mystery that remains to be 
unraveled when you are through with your nest," 
I said, "but there is an end to all things, even to 
a spool of thread, and you have reached it. Take, 
then, if you will" — and she stood with her head 
on one side, listening wisely to my words, if not 
understanding them — "the spool itself, for I have 
a fancy to see how much weight you can carry 
in that rose-red beak of yours." Tying a yard 
42 



OUR KENTUCKY CARDINAL 

and a half of thread to the spool, I placed it on 
the ground, twisting the thread up among the 
grape-vines, and sat down to see what she would 
do. 

The spool was a new object, and as such was 
to be guardedly examined and mistrusted. So 
the madame perched herself above the spot where 
it lay, tilting far over, first on one side, then on 
the other, consumed with curiosity, but not quite 
daring to investigate. But the last remaining 
thread she coveted, and she finally gave it a 
vigorous jerk. Up bobbed the spool like a live 
thing, and down it dropped again as, in affright, 
she retreated to a pear-tree. Returning to the 
charge, she was accompanied by her mate, and 
together they discussed the dangers of the situ- 
ation, he, following an ancient example, urging 
the feminine part of the family to make the ven- 
ture. And she did. Boldly snatching the at- 
tached thread, she rose into the air, dragging 
with her the spool. Startling apparition! And 
she promptly freed herself from it. On the trellis 
the pair once more talked things over, and after 
repeated urgings, "O, try it once more," the fe- 
male pounced bravely into the grass after the 
white trail of the thread, and this time, regard- 
less of consequences, swept away with the spool 
dangling half a yard below her. 

After her I ran to see the result. Into the 

43 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

top of the maple she went, and there deposited 
her thread, for her nest was cozily placed on 
the exact top of it, with the threads woven 
about the young branches springing thickly. 
In a twinkling, as she released the thread, down 
came the spool through the leaves, falling di- 
rectly at the foot of the tree. Astonished (for 
she had just turned herself about to secure it), 
but not vanquished, she flew out of the tree and 
to the ground, again seizing the thread and car- 
rying the spool aloft once more. This time she 
pulled it over the branch, and, evidently thinking 
it secure, let go of it, only to witness once more 
its disappearance. This second accident caused 
great excitement. The male bird joined her, and 
the two birds, with heads high and crests erect, 
hopped around and around this inanimate object 
that firmly refused to stay "put." Whatever 
were their thoughts or the trend of their con- 
versation, with great patience the female cardinal 
tried once more to weave the attached thread 
into the lacelike structure of her nest, but to no 
purpose, as the spool fell for the third time 
through the leaves ; and then she let it lie, and 
to spare their feelings I carried it away. 

As I looked up into the tree, the finished nest 
presented a beautiful and wonderful appearance. 
The thread, snow white, hung like festoons of 
hoary lace from all sides of the nest, curiously 

44 



OUR KENTUCKY CARDINAL 

woven and intertwined, and, from beneath, it 
hung to the length of nine or ten inches as the 
nest rested among the thick foliage of green 
leaves. Of nothing but thread was the founda- 
tion, as we found after the nest was deserted, 
wound around and around the small maple 
branches, as an oriole twists her threads, and 
with strands innumerable. Syringa twigs in great 
number were mixed into the upper part of the 
thread, to make a firm foundation; then above 
all this came the piece of paper the cardinal in- 
variably uses — a twist of clean white tissue-pa- 
per in this case. Had that bird an idea of the 
fitness of things? Did it not seem so? But 
white tissue was a scarcity in the market, evi- 
dently, for above this were laid, one upon the 
other, three pieces of clean manila paper. Then 
came strips of grape-vine bark, a bit of blue and 
white cord, and some withered grasses. The 
upper part, composed of bark, was most carelessly 
tossed in; the lower part was of thread woven, 
intertwined, looped, and draped with as much 
care as any skilled lace-maker could have given 
to it. How did she do it with her blunt beak, 
made only for rough work? 

Love of beauty she must have had, for the 
threads served the purpose of decoration, and 
not much of anchorage, and were entirely use- 
less and unnecessary in the nest proper — the up- 

45 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

per part made of bark, where she placed her eggs. 
Imitativeness ? I wonder. Had she watched 
the oriole? If so, she far surpassed her teacher. 
And such rejoicing as followed the completion 
of this wonderful nest ! Such foolish rejoicing, 
far too loudly voiced for safety. Almost the en- 
tire day that unwise male bird sounded a "Rubai- 
yat" in praise of his home — such a jewel of a 
nest ! What jubilant notes ! What a melody 
of trills and whistles and shouts! 

The old proverb was again fulfilled — pride 
and vainglory met with their deserts. The period 
of incubation had almost rounded out, when I 
noticed on a day a certain very silent blue jay 
sitting meditatively about. To my eye he had a 
guilty look, and, on general principles, I drove 
him out of the vicinity. Then I went to investi- 
gate. The beautifully woven fabric was torn 
and tangled in hopeless confusion. One side of 
the nest was torn out, and, as the nest hung at 
an angle, I could see that the eggs also had dis- 
appeared. This accounted for the appearance of 
that brigand, the jay. During the day the cardi- 
nals returned to our trees, the jay also, with 
whetted appetite ; but the outraged parents 
pounced upon him as furiously as a pair of cats, 
and buffeted him until he was glad to escape with 
his life. 

But the maternal instinct was strong in that 

4 6 



OUR KENTUCKY CARDINAL 

softly feathered gold-gray breast, and in three 
days the brave little mother builded a second nest. 
She did not go to the old nest, as you might 
think, and pluck from it the now useless threads 
to weave into her second nest — not she ! She 
never went near it, for I watched every moment 
of its building. Why did she not, I wonder? It 
would have been an easy matter to pull some of 
them out, and it was quite near the place where 
she made her second home. Like a true philoso- 
pher, she ignored the past with its sorrows, kept 
away from suggestive scenes, and as energetic- 
ally, if not quite as joyously, prepared the cradle 
for her second brood. Did we help her again? 
Well, we did, and watched her fly this time quite 
over the house to her new home. Where, then, 
could it be? I ran around the house, and there 
on the windlass of the well I surprised the male 
bird in full song, gazing with upturned head into 
the woodbine. 

In among those leaves must be the persevering 
home-maker, and, sure enough, out she flew as 
we watched, and away she went over the house 
to the place of the thread. "Well," I said, "I '11 
lighten your labors pretty quickly, also coax you 
to where my dear, dear, dear old mother can see 
you," and on a near window-sill — a sill as near 
to the windlass of the well as to the nest, I trailed 
long lengths of thread. They caught her bright 

4 47 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

eyes instantly on her return. How delightedly 
she looked at them! Such great luck to have 
them so near! Dare she really venture to the 
sill of that open window? Down she flew, but 
just missed grasping a thread as she passed 
swiftly by. On to the windlass, then down again, 
again missing the thread. It was quite evident 
she must alight to gain her object, and, deciding 
to risk it, she plucked up courage and flew on to 
the sill. There she lifted her head high, took 
a cool survey of us, of the room, and finding 
things very peaceful and quiet on this summer 
Sabbath morning, I watching her from my chair 
and the dear mother gazing delightedly at her 
from the pillow, she leisurely selected thread 
after thread until she had a mouthful, and off she 
went to her nesting-place not ten feet away. 

"Hurrah!" shouted her mate from his fence- 
post of observation — and though he did n't ex- 
actly say these words, his notes were plainly 
congratulatory — "that's great!" but he took 
precious good care to keep at a safe distance 
himself until the female had become more con- 
fident, and as she lingered each time a little longer 
on the window-sill, he finally plucked up sufficient 
manliness to come himself and make at least a 
show of helping her. His enthusiasm for work 
soon flagged, and he contented himself with 
watching her and whistling to keep her cour- 
age up. 4 g 



OUR KENTUCKY CARDINAL 

This nest was placed quite near to an upstairs 
window and on a level with it. I could look into 
it from the window, and easily reach it with my 
hand. It was modeled on the lines of her first 
nest — threads and syringa sticks ; but time seemed 
to press, and she worked in a tremendous hurry, 
using much less thread and with little artistic 
effect. In all, I think, there were about seventy- 
five yards of thread in this nest, as my spool 
was a little more than half full. The season was 
advancing — June 16th — and as yet she had neither 
chick nor child. On Tuesday the first egg was 
laid, so you recognize her need for haste in pre- 
paring a receptacle for it; a second egg was in 
the nest on Wednesday, and on Thursday the 
last egg appeared, and again the patient little 
bird began her vigil. 

I now spent most of my time at the window 
watching the ways of my bird neighbor. At first 
she eyed me with suspicion. It was pretty close 
quarters, but I had conversed with her at such 
length during the nest-building time, that she 
knew my voice and soon began to answer me in 
low trillings — trillings that could scarcely be 
heard — and turn her head to look at me in a 
friendly way. The mate was not friendly. When 
he first darted in among the leaves, bearing to 
the lady of his choice a fine green worm, and 
espied me at my window, he left in great alarm, 

49 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

not even stopping to feed his mate, and alighted 
on the windlass, shouting loudly, "Whoo-oo!" 
"Whoo-oo!" over and over again. But I never 
stirred, and as he could not, as a gentleman, gorge 
himself while his wife went empty, he had finally 
to give in and come back to her with the worm. 
How she coaxed and called him each time he 
returned with food and affrightedly made many 
dashes at the nest ere he alighted! But he soon 
learned to look upon me as a fixture and to re- 
gard me with indifference. 

The hot summer days ran on and on, adding 
familiarity to our friendship with the birds, until 
the mother bird and I reached that enviable stage 
of long silences, and my lady would barely open 
a sleepy eye if I essayed conversation, and then, 
closing it, would sit and nod, nod, nod, as an 
old lady does over her knitting. It was amusing 
to see her thus napping in the summer heat, wear- 
ing the most utterly bored expression you could 
imagine, her head slowly dropping to one side 
until it reached an angle too acute, when she 
would pull herself together and straighten up, 
only to yield a moment later to the utter weari- 
ness caused by engrossing cares of motherhood. 

Fancy, then, my hurt surprise when my visit 
to her on a certain hot noontide was received 
with warlike demonstrations. .She had fed from 
my hand as she sat on the nest many and many 

50 



OUR KENTUCKY CARDINAL 

a time, but now, as I held out to her a morsel of 
white bread, she started up with glittering eyes 
and wildly ruffled plumage, a perfect fury in 
feathers, betraying by the glitter of her eye her 
kinship to the snake. Innocent of offense, I 
continued to urge upon her my largess, when she 
slipped off the nest and gave my finger a vicious 
dig. Her loss of self-control proved her undoing 
and betrayed her secret. A tiny pink morsel lay 
in the nest — the first bird was hatched! No 
wonder she was fierce, after the mishap to her 
first nest. Who would want a giant's great big 
hand to come poking insolently about the cradle 
of one's first-born? No wonder she stood "at 
arms !" But, really, I think, after all our good- 
fellowship, she might have trusted me. The bird- 
ling was only a trifle pinker than any new little 
human baby, and possibly thrice as large as a 
young humming-bird. It was almost naked, only 
a little fuzz showing on the wings and on the 
top of its head. Little time was given for even 
a glimpse, as the mother bird was back on the 
nest in a trice. Nor did I ever know her to be 
away from the nest unless the male bird was on 
guard. Experience had been a good teacher. On 
the next day two birds were in the nest ; the next, 
three youngsters crowded together beneath her 
warm breast. How wonderful now was her in- 
stinct ! No more close sitting on the nest ; rather, 

51 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

she seemed to hold herself over the young birds 
so lightly as if to give breathing space for the 
small lungs. How they did sleep, those young- 
sters ! Cuddled in a warm little bunch, they 
slept by the hour, the mother, perched on the 
edge of the nest, keeping guard. Their rapidity 
of respiration was astonishing, and they panted 
like small steam-engines, as if they must breathe 
as fast as they could and grow as fast, so as to 
lose nothing of life. 

Whether birds so young already partake of 
the peculiarities of what is called "immature" 
birds — half-grown birds — I do not know, but I 
do know that two of these birds looked gray even 
when only economically rearing their skin, and 
one was quite pink, and in the third nest made 
all three birds were pink. Possibly all of them 
were male birds in the last case, the pale rosy 
coloring being only a forerunner of the vivid red 
of the future. 

Well, my young birds grew and grew apace, 
and the old birds gradually lost the puffed-up 
pride of first parentage, admitting my always- 
willing-to-be-friendly self again to their confi- 
dence, and the female came quite readily on to 
the window-seat for the crumbs I laid there, and 
even inside. 

It was marvelous how they feathered out. 
The wings on one day showed only gray quills 

52 



OUR KENTUCKY CARDINAL 

with tiny paint-brush ends sticking out, and the 
next had burst forth into soft dove-colored feath- 
ers — dove color with a warm rosy tint — pre- 
cisely as a flower blossoms in a night. On the 
fourth day, Tuesday, a slit appeared in the center 
of the eyelids of the first-born ; the next, the slit 
had widened ; and on the sixth day the young bird 
had its first glimpse into a wonderful world of 
leaves and blue sky. The eyes of the remaining 
birds opened in succession, and on the tenth day 
after the first hatching, when I made my noon- 
day visit, two birds were just fluttering from 
the nest. Between hopping and beating their 
wings, they managed finally to climb out of the 
nest, one perching on the rim of it, the other 
fluttering on to a twig close to my window. 
There they sat in round-eyed wonder, staring 
about them like owls, as though they would say: 
"Well, this is the kind of place the world is, is 
it ? Not so very much, after all !" And when 
I reached forth a hand, like Noah, and drew a 
bird in, it evinced no surprise of any kind, but sat 
gravely on my finger, eyeing me with an unblink- 
ing stare. But the old ones took things not so 
easily, for they flew at me like demons until I 
retreated into a farther room, carrying off my 
prize for closer inspection. What a beauty it 
was ! and how complacently it hopped from finger 
to finger of my hand ! But as the outraged 

53 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

parents dashed against the now closed window 
in fierce rage, I opened the door down-stairs to 
which I had carried my captive, and let him go, 
not an instant too soon, for the cardinals flew 
at me viciously. It seemed inexcusable, but the 
dooryard was unsafe for the rest of the day, for 
as the third youngster fluttered out, they all three 
fell among the woodbine, and when one of us 
made a dash to bring in a bird to examine it, it 
was at the risk of our eyes. They permitted us 
to throw out crumbs, and came quickly to eat 
them, bringing the young ones ; but it was very 
evident that it was their day "out" and our day 
"in." 

We secured the nest, and found it made of 
successive layers, first a piece of paper bearing 
the words, in large letters, "Premium," "A num- 
ber One/' evidently the heading of some prize- 
paper advertisement. Then came the thread, 
yards and yards of it, secured to the woodbine 
and interlaced around many tiny syringa twigs. 
Then upon this a piece of brown manila paper, 
and then a few pieces of bark ; then a third piece 
of paper with large type head-lines, "What shall 
be done with Aguinaldo?" more twigs and bits 
of bark ; then a fourth piece of paper from a select 
sheet headed "Times-Star," announcing a bargain 
sale of housekeeping goods. 

Such a tiny pocket of a nest as it was, after 

54 



OUR KENTUCKY CARDINAL 

all, to have held such a vigorous family ! The 
hollow of it was no larger than the curve of my 
palm. 

The flitting was on a Friday, and on Tuesday 
following the female was again at nest-making 
— her third nest, two sets of eggs having been 
laid already and one brood hatched. 

This nest was hung to the wire netting where 
the honeysuckle clung. It could be entered from 
either side — outside from beneath the leaves, or 
inside from the porch side. It was cunningly 
located beneath the thickest leaves. But did my 
lady choose the easier way? Not at all. No 
matter how many people were occupying the 
porch, she would, after exercising or going for 
water on the south side of the house, fly into 
the maple-tree at the south end of the porch, 
and from there sweep over our heads, the entire 
length of the porch, alight on a tiny twig that 
protruded on the wire side of the nest, and then 
slip through the meshes as neatly as you please. 
She sometimes added to the charm of her flight 
by sitting on the twig for two or three minutes, 
before stepping into the nest, and pouring forth 
notes of bewildering sweetness. This was her 
especial accomplishment — to fly home and, before 
settling down to the monotony of brooding, whis- 
tle ecstatically. Many times in the day did she 
repeat this. Occasionally on the nest she would 

55 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

whistle and call in such low, clear tones, raising 
her head to listen for my answer or for her mate's, 
if he were in the vicinity, that I felt she had, in 
the joy of maternity, forgotten all its pain, and 
the tragic episode of the blue jay was as though 
it never had been. Oftentimes I held my face 
close to the netting and conversed with the little 
mother as she wearily wore away the hot, hot, 
hot days, and she would respond by an uplifted 
head and a kindly reception of my words. 

In this nest, in course of time, were three 
babies, all of them pink, pink as pink, and even 
smaller than the first ones — the first day one, the 
second day all three. On a certain day the female 
would not leave the nest at all. All day long she 
sat on the twig or the edge of the nest, and we 
knew that flying-time was at hand, and promptly 
posted ourselves near by to observe. When her 
patience was almost worn out, one little bird 
struggled out of the nest and up on to the vine, 
then a second and a third — 

"A Hatter of wings, a fit fid stirring, 
A little piping of leaf-hid birds," 

truly, — and guiding them, guarding them, cheer- 
ing them on, the parent birds hung about the 
young adventurers. At nightfall they were yet 
in the vines, but in the morning all were gone but 
one, and as I picked him from the leafy covert, 

56 



OUR KENTUCKY CARDINAL 

with kindliest intent to show him the way to 
his "mammy," that "mammy" swooped down 
upon me from goodness knows where, for I 
had not suspected her being in the neighborhood, 
and showed me so unmistakably that she could 
take care of her own family, that I dropped her 
birdling and retreated in anything but good order. 
The next spring our cardinal found the leafy 
garden lonely. The Friend of all the birds, one 
blossomy April day, fled into a Far Country, and, 
missing her, my bird went away, bewildered, 
choosing a location in my neighbor's garden, 
building her first nest away from our place. One 
day later, as I sat lonely by my window in the 
still house, into the grape trellis descended our 
cardinal bird, peering at me with inquiry. With 
a jumping heart I watched her, and wildly hop- 
ing she might even at this early date want to 
build again (the young ones were scarcely out 
of the nest), I dropped my work, snatched up 
a spool of thread, and hurried outside to tempt 
her. There, by the trellis, I unrolled yard after 
yard of thread as she cunningly looked on, but 
I had scarcely left them when my lady came 
edging shyly along the trellis, snatched up one 
thread and flew away with it over the low roof 
of the kitchen. I returned to my window and 
watched her until she had carried away all the 
thread ; then I went out with more, and this time 

57 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

following her flight, behold there where she had 
built the year before was a tangle of white threads 
hanging in the green leaves of the woodbine. 
She had come back to me ; old friends were best ! 
This second nest was not long a-building. 
Her second brood was scarcely on its wings when 
my lady again turned over to her almost ex- 
hausted mate — for he had all the rearing of the 
first brood — the three hungry youngsters who 
had quickly become burdensome to herself, for 
she wanted to build again. This time she made 
a nest in the osage hedge, still using the thread. 
So ended the fourth summer. 



58 



The Fifth Summer of Our Kentucky 
Cardinal 

"Now at last the day begins 
In the east a' breaking; 
In the hedges and the whins 
Sleeping birds are waking." 

The first birds to announce the opening of a new 
day, summer after summer, were invariably our 
rare cardinals. When dawn trembled between 
dark and gray, and trees and birds were scarcely 
distinguishable, sweet, awakening calls fluted 
from the tree-tops. "Whoo-oo-oo !" the male be- 
gins very softly, very sleepily, very slowly, as if 
taking a long breath, stretching himself, and 
wondering if it can possibly be time to wake up ! 
A moment's silence, and he tries it over again. 
"Whee-w/" Two notes this time in sighing tones. 
Another rest (probably napping), and back he 
goes to the first note : "Whoo ! Whoo !" — a trifle 
louder now, as if he were trying his voice and 
was hardly yet awake or his throat clear enough 
to sing. It is very like human folk begin the day, 

59 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

with a stretch and a yawn and a general rallying 
of forces that will enable them, also, to start 
it in cheerful fashion. "Whee-u! Whee-u! 
Whee-u!" Now he has gotten as far as three 
notes, and all around him are little birds waking 
up and answering in joyous twitterings. The 
robin seems the first to respond, and in a drowsy 
tone that tells its own story, that he can scarcely 
believe the short night is over, and while he is 
civil enough to answer the cardinal's call, he is 
yet inclined to grumble at this early bird. Other 
birds instantly follow the robin's chirp, and, 
cheered by the chorus he has called into voice, 
louder and louder rings the cardinal's song. 
"Whee-M/ Whee-w/ Whee-w/" he emphasizes 
with astonishing rapidity six, eight, ten times, 
even twenty (for I count), then adds an admon- 
itory "chuck, chuck, chuck, chuck, chuck !" in a 
lower key. Throwing his voice back to the high- 
notes, he pours them out so rapidly that the 
music holds an undercurrent of trills rippling 
between the louder tones of his song. 

We heard them in the maple trees that fifth 
summer, it is true, but content we must be with 
the lilt of their song and the flash of their wings 
in the early spring days, for, again with reason, 
the first nest was made under the eaves of my 
neighbor's tiny back porch, and our intimacy 
with them — my intimacy — seemed at an end. 
60 



THE FIFTH SUMMER 

But a little patience, only, was necessary, and all 
things righted themselves, and the fifth summer 
wherein my persevering cardinal made her eighth 
and ninth nests of thread held as much of interest 
as had the preceding summers. 

Also, I hasten to state in their defense that 
it was no fickleness of mind that sent them 
a-home-making in strange places. It was neglect 
of their wants and their ways — but not by me 
or mine ! In the fall of the year, following their 
fourth summer, the big, white, vine-embowered 
house was leased — leased to .those who bethought 
themselves all too little of the friendly feathered 
folk slipping about beneath the leaves, waiting 
only an encouraging crumb or piece of suet to 
woo the hearts out of them with pretty ways. 

Old Dave's ("King David's") comment was 
justified. It was this. When I told him the place 
was rented he gave no thought to what might 
befall the property, but emphatically groaned: 

"Um-um! Yaas-um! I bet dey don' tek no 
such keer o' de buhds as yo' all and yo' all's 
mutheh done !" 

At Christmas time, the snowy days of Yule- 
tide, I went down to the lonely old house, for 
the renters were off a-merry-making ! 

The half-shell of cocoanut swung empty in the 
bleak wind. No Christmas cheer for winter birds, 
so I cracked and pounded my fingers and the nuts 
61 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

I had brought with me for old sakes' sake, and 
the feast was prepared. An investigation the day 
following showed guests had been at the board. 
The shell was empty! But between Christmas 
holly and the lilacs stretches a long gray gap, 
and when, in the greening days of spring, I came 
into my own again, the garden was desolate 
without the chattering gossip of my nests a-mak- 
ing. 

April, with her shadows and her shinings, 
went swiftly by, trailing in her foamy wake a 
very warm and rosy May that, with languid 
touch, brought summer flowers into swiftest 

bloom, and — who knows? in the home-loving 

heart of that cardinal stirring into life certain 
vagrant memories of days and years gone by! 

In any case, back she came, to the garden, to 
me, mayhap with thought of the Beloved, so many 
years familiar in the window-seat. 

Into the Virginia-creeper one morning swung 
my cardinal as I sat on the porch, and, glimpsing 
me, showed unmistakable signs of delight and 
surprise. Such flirts and flutters of importance! 
Such chirpings — as if to say, "Why, you 've got 
back again!" as she recognized my whistle. I 
hardly dared think she had come to stay, but it 
proved true, and great was the rejoicing on all 
sides, for she had been a tenant much loved. 

"King David," black, good, benevolent, who, 

62 



THE FIFTH SUMMER 

notwithstanding royalty, cuts my wood, carries 
water, makes all my paths straight; "Jim," the 
grocer's boy ; the "Coal-oil-man," by whose light 
we all go to bed ; Mary, the once tender care-taker 
of the Friend who is away — all congratulated 
themselves on a renewed acquaintance, and a 
general jubilate was sung. 

Promptly she began her eighth nest of threads 
(though the young of the first nest of the summer 
were but two days out of it), falling into the 
snare I laid for her without an instant's hesita- 
tion, and, to tell you the truth, the male bird, 
with the utmost assurance, hurriedly brought all 
the family to my garden for rearing, a wide 
flower-bed of loose loam yielding more succulent 
worms than the newly sodded lawn of my neigh- 
bor. 

If the male would not assist in home-making, 
he certainly redeemed himself in fostering his 
offspring, for he "mothered" them assiduously 
and was oftentimes at his wits' end when, feeding 
one, the others besieged him starvingly. The fe- 
male paid no heed to any dilemma he got into, 
but thriftly wove her nest of cotton thread again 
in the woodbine, again in the same old place, and 
whenever the male could elude his charges he 
would fly into the vines, zigzagging to the top 
and peering out at me, an interested student, 
sounding from time to time a threatening note. 

5 63 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

Correction was in store, but he graciously post- 
phoned administering it, giving me one more 
chance to mend my ways and leave his domestic 
affairs alone! 

The second brood — three birds (of the fifth 
summer and eighth nest of threads) — was soon 
following about with the half-grown birds who 
yet demanded food from the discouraged father, 
and who with six at his heels found no time for 
morbid introspection as he flew from one to the 
other, wildly distraught, a typical "old woman 
who lived in a shoe !" 

With industrious haste, the female was ea- 
gerly ready for nest number 9 ! And if ever a 
bird was enwrapt with her own artistic ideas, 
she was the one. The use of the thread gave 
her three times the work, and I hope you quite 
understand that cardinals are not zveaver-birds, 
and have never been known to use thread in their 
careless nests. I had really begun to wonder 
if this artistic female made the third nest each 
summer for the purpose of holding a third lot 
of eggs, or if she conjured up the third batch 
merely as an excuse for further fussing with 
those fascinating threads ! Again, however, she 
used a tremendous quantity — one hundred and 
fifty yards — draping the honeysuckle (for she 
built again at the end of the veranda) with airy 
festoons. 

64 



THE FIFTH SUMMER 

To tell you of her further domestic affairs 
would, perhaps, seem a repetition, but I do assure 
you it is not. Each nesting-time reveals new 
traits. It 's like a new family moving in ! She 
wove a wondrous fabric — singing, whistling, con- 
fident, gay ! During incubation she showed the 
same old confidence. Three youngsters soon ap- 
peared, very small, very pink, bringing with them 
voracious appetites. In early dawn they were 
awake, and until night darkened down kept the 
old birds feeding them, with but short inter- 
missions for sleep — the other young ones at last 
"fending" for themselves. 

In the third summer, and also in the nest 
above noted, two serious accidents were barely 
averted. The male bird, in his eagerness, one 
day could not brook so much instruction on the 
part of his careful spouse, and, without giving 
her his morsel, into a gaping mouth he quickly 
thrust a worm, and as quickly the bird strangled 
on it, almost going into spasms as it "stuck." 
With an angy chirp, the mother bird came to the 
rescue, and, reaching into the throat of the tiny 
one, she seized the obstruction firmly, and in- 
stantly withdrew it. The male watched her with 
the silliest air of astonishment, as she "masti- 
cated" the worm and then gave it to another 
small bird. However, even she was liable to 

65 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

blunder, for in the rearing of this last nestful 
I watched her one day, when she brought to 
them a large bumble-bee from which she had torn 
the wings. This clumsy morsel she thrust into a 
w T ide open mouth. It was too much for a mouth- 
ful. The bill of the tiny bird was held firmly 
open as if gagged, he could not swallow the bug ! 
He tried and struggled and stood up even, but 
down it would not go! I went close to see the 
outcome, crying out, "Well, you 've choked him !" 
But the mother showed little alarm, only intense 
watchfulness, as her unhappy offspring contin- 
ued to struggle, and finally with a big and almost 
expiring gulp down went the bumble-bee, and 
away went the female for more provender. But 
in every nestful the father must watch how the 
thing was done, and, having paid strict attention, 
was then permitted to do a little feeding on his 
own account. 

To the nest the male would always come in 
an excited rush, and with such an air of having 
just the titbit this time that would answer, but 
into the mother's mouth it must go, and she, after 
turning it two or three times, would thrust it 
into the gaping mouths of the baby birds — first 
one and then another. And though the female 
sat on the edge of the nest awaiting the arrival 
of the male with his burden of food, and between 
them were gaping mouths reached blindly up, 
66 



THE FIFTH SUMMER 

this well-governed husband nearly always 
humbly gave to the mother his provender and 
store, looking attentively and admiringly into 
the nest as his better half administered the food 
according to her light as to how children should 
be nourished. 

Neither was milord allowed to give them to 
drink. The female invariably visited the yellow 
crock we kept with water in the shadow of the 
leaves just below the nest, and it was a thing 
he greatly desired to do, watching the mother- 
bird wistfully as she flew back and forth, satis- 
fying the thirsty throats! 

These birds also were soon ready for 
flight, and their actions and preparations were 
most interesting and beautiful. All day long 
from early morning the little birds were stirring 
about, always crowding, pushing each other, and 
hopping up onto the edge of the nest by turns, 
and "elbowing" their way back into the over-full 
nest. The nest proper (without counting the 
thread) was extremely small this last time, and 
the birds looked far too little to be going about by 
themselves. The two parent birds kept close 
watch all day, one of them ever hanging over the 
nest, not one moment leaving it alone; one sit- 
ting on a twig close by, until two o'clock in the 
afternoon the first flight was made, not, however, 
6 7 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

until the small fledgling had long sat on the nest's 
edge preening his feathers, looking about him 
and stretching himself, and trying each leg, to see 
if it were strong enough to stand on. Much time 
also was given to preparing themselves, oiling 
the tiny feathers, picking at the small wings, and 
spreading them to their fullest extent. 

It was a funny sight, this making of a toilet 
to appear in the world, and instinct was strong 
when it taught them what would be needed, and 
I am sure the plentiful supply of oil used on their 
feathers saved the lives of the owners that night. 
Out, then, hopped the first and strongest of the 
birds. Hurrah for this green old world! — tho' 
a fellow may be a trifle tottery about the legs! 
How he blinked, and clutched, and hopped un- 
certainly from wire to wire, until he had threaded 
his way to the top of the piazza (the nest had 
been within reach). Followed him the second, 
also balancing himself on the slender wires and 
climbing up and up, a little round bunch of down, 
along the vines. Two were safely away when the 
last and tiniest one essayed the trip. Repeatedly 
he climbed out of the nest and toppled back. 
He was too little, his feathers too few, and he 
was very weak, but he was full of pluck. Fi- 
nally he managed to cling to the edge of the 
nest. Then, after a long rest, and a dazed look 
about him, he hopped into a flowering branch 
68 



THE FIFTH SUMMER 

of honeysuckle. This was fine, much pleasanter 
than that stifling old nest ; but, my stars ! how 
shaky his legs were ! He teetered back and 
forth, trying wildly to hold his balance, but gen- 
erally toppled entirely over, on the outside this 
time, catching himself, in his fall, on a lower twig, 
and then hurrying back into the nest again, to 
settle down in great apparent comfort — and very 
glad he was to be safe home. He would rest 
awhile, then do it all over again. Finally he 
stayed out for good, and the remainder of the 
day three diminutive bunches of dove-colored 
feathers were constantly scurrying up and down 
the trellis. By dusk two of them had flown across 
the road into a low green bush of thickly spring- 
ing young locusts near the campus. The other, 
the weak one, was sitting safely on a twig close 
to the nest. After tea he too was gone. As we 
started out for a stroll, eyeing askance the black 
storm clouds overhead, our neighbors called, as 
we passed, "Here is one of your family running 
about in the grass." The weakest one of the 
young red-birds ! I captured him, hurrying back 
home through the rain, much perturbed in mind 
as to what we should do with this chap. I con- 
cluded to put him in the nest, hoping the mother 
would come to him. In he went, and into the 
house went I for dry garments. The night grew 
darker, and the storm wilder, and I continued 

69 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

to worry about the wee one ; out I finally went 
and found that risky young bird out also — out 
of his nest and sitting there on a twig close to 
it all alone in the big dark. "Well," said I im- 
patiently, "you will be drowned if I leave you 
here alone. Over across the road you go into 
the locust bush. May be all your family is there ;" 
and, grasping him, much against his will, I 
plunged through the rain and firmly established 
the little fellow in a snug place in the close 
foliage. A wild tempest raged all night, and 
morning broke to find birds of all kinds drowned 
by hundreds. In another part of the town, where 
there was a blackbird's roost, they were blown 
to the pavement, beaten down by the rain, and in 
the daylight shovelled up and carried away in 
basketsful. Robins, sparrows, all flew in wild 
affright against the doors of houses, and if these 
doors were opened, dashed in to safe shelter 
from the storm. What marvelous Providence, 
then, protected the fledglings? 

I had not slept for dread of what might hap- 
pen to the red-bird babies, and for fear I did not 
do the right thing, and, with the sun's first rays, 
I hurried out to the locust bush, to find it radiant, 
all green, and shining, fresh and fair, where, 
preening themselves with utmost nonchalance in 
the warm sun rays, sat three tiny birds — all com- 
70 



THE FIFTH SUMMER 

fortable and cozy under the softly waving leaves ! 
My heart rose cheerfully up into my throat, and 
the old birds from the low overhanging branches 
of the maples exchanged congratulations with 
me. 

All winter the female and her mate came at 
times to the house, to the window-sills for crumbs, 
for seed, for suet, for corn-bread, for corn, bring- 
ing with them very often the young birds that 
we had watched throughout the summer and 
autumn, turning from grays and browns to scar- 
let and reddish browns, according to their gender. 
I often wondered what they thought, these 
youngsters, as they caught their reflections in 
the glass bowl of water where they daily drank 
and bathed. Their first acquaintance with them- 
selves was made in soft dove-colored garments. 
Now each day saw a deeper tint of scarlet on 
the wings, the long tail feathers also growing 
scarlet, crests rising on their active little heads, 
and, positively, they had an outraged air as if 
they would like to cry out, "Well! what if we 
are undergoing this curious and unaccountable 
transformation '?" and all the time half-scared 
themselves at what they could n't understand, 
and, like the little old woman whose petticoats 
were cut off as she slept, they were not quite 
sure "if I be I." Such a ragged, frowsy-looking 

7i 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

fellow as my Lord Cardinal also became when 
the leaves turned brown and his feathers grew 
fewer. He even seemed surprised at himself 
(for he could not miss his reflected vision in the 
bowl of water) as he hopped about with ragged 
crest all awry, and feathers impoverished, glaring 
haughtily at us, as though he dared us to laugh. 
No more pride in his splendid raiment, no more 
flaunting of bold colors in the face of modest 
birds, for he himself had suffered from the hag- 
gling of time and domestic affairs. 

Instead, he wore the air of an old roue — reck- 
less, abandoned, ludicrous in the extreme ; but 
as winter waxed old, new feathers replaced his 
tatters, and, to our joy, he began again to shine 
resplendent. 

From its safe honeysuckle lodgment, when 
all the nesting days were done, I carefully lifted 
what was once the so snug home of birdlings. 

A wondrous architect is a bird, and, in what 
mysterious corner of the cardinal's make-up, 
hides a something that ever prompts the use of 
paper in her nest; who can tell? 

It is there, invariably. 

In this nest we found three pieces of paper, 
as in her former nest. (Can birds count?) 

The first piece was plain white paper, "criss- 
crossed" with strings. A second piece was thrust 
72 



THE FIFTH SUMMER 

in at one side, a ragged, soiled slip of printing 
bearing the words, "A cure for tired and aching 
feet! Shake this powder into your shoe!" The 
last piece bore a head-line in large letters, evi- 
dently from a religious weekly, " shall 

know the truth and the truth shall make you 
freer 



73 



Three Brown Babies 

"In cool, shady courts of whispering trees, 
With their leaves lifted up to shake hands with 
the breeze."' 

Wb never should have seen them but for certain 
unwarranted suspicions on the part of their par- 
ents. In pursuit of an elusive cat-bird, we were 
following the flash of her wings to the thick 
shrubbery of the osage hedge, with fell determi- 
nation to surprise her secret. Thrushes brown 
and slender, thrashers bold and cinnamon-col- 
ored, as well as the robins had snugly hidden 
homes in the heavy foliage, and peacefully pur- 
sued their avocations. But, for kindly intentioned 
folks, our careless coming into the garden created 
a hubbub quite out of proportion to our merits 
or demerits, and we felt ourselves looked upon as 
rogues. 

"Zip-zip," or "chink-chink," as the ear reads 
it, sounded on all sides and over our heads. Dear 
me, such a disturbance of the drowsy noontide 
with the garden half-asleep in the sun ! Where 
was the distrustful fellow who imputed to us 

74 



THREE BROWN BABIES 

evil designs and was sending out the note of 
alarm? Was it the cat-bird, glancing at us from 
the fence-post? Not she, with her mouth full 
of provender for her nestlings. Was it the car- 
dinal? Hardly, while he remembered the spool- 
cotton, nor the robin, to whom we had furnished 
strings. Who, then, was making outcry? On 
whose demesne were we trespassing, A flutter 
of brown wings overhead, as they carried the 
owner thereof into the high hedge. A thrush 
surely ! Small, to be sure, but much speckled as 
to breast. So much we saw as he flew above us. 
Out of a tree he came in a rush, never ceasing 
to sound his indignant "Zip-zip." Into the apple- 
tree, thence to the clothesline, where, with feath- 
ers bristling like "quills upon the fretful porcu- 
pine," and a top-knot that rose and fell in unison 
with the excited jerks of his small body, he 
scolded and fussed. Now we knew him. With 
true bird-luck we had stumbled across a nest, 
a nest we long had looked for. And there was 
nothing further for us to do but bide our time 
and wait until this belligerent parent should point 
it out. Her flights from tree to tree, from the 
high hedge on the west to the low hedge on the 
south were swift and frequent, and we had a 
fine view of his yellowish-white breast, thickly 
dotted with brown, in its very center, just below 
the throat, a brown rosette. Such excitement as 

75 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

filled his heart, such anger, such resentment, as 
he watched us turning at him two queer-looking 
things that we held at our eyes ! An opera-glass 
was beyond his ken, but he knew we meant mis- 
chief, and was prepared to fight "pro aris et 
focis." Closer we followed him as his flights 
grew shorter, until, suddenly, from the low, well- 
trimmed hedge, out slipped his little wife, join- 
ing her voice to his in shouts that meant nothing 
less than "Here, here! Get out of this! Some- 
thing is going to happen !" But we would n't 
be warned, and finding that waiting only pro- 
longed their foolish fears, we quietly began our 
search for the nest in the thick, matlike foliage 
of the hedge. Carefully parting the branches, 
we first looked from above, the old birds wildly 
fluttering about our devoted heads. Then, stoop- 
ing, we hunted from below, peering up into green 
shadows and, like the man of bramble-bush no- 
toriety, came near losing an eve. In every move 
the parents followed us, scolding vigorously, now 
on this side of the hedge, now on that, never once 
coming near it, but as if they seemed loudly 
saying, "Find it if you can ; we won't help !" 
And they did not. For more than an hour we 
hunted for that nest, when it was all the time 
just under our hands, though so cunningly hid- 
den! At last an inadvertent movement of the 
hand thrust back a small branch, and there be- 

7 6 



THREE BROWN BABIES 

neath it lay three tiny, brown birdlings, snugly, 
trustfully, and soundly asleep "in the midst of 
alarms." They quite filled the nest, each tiny 
head resting over the rim of it, so comfortable, 
so happy, so oblivious of any danger! It was 
hard to resist taking them out to examine, but, 
to our credit be it said, we left them undisturbed, 
thinking, "To-morrow we '11 look again." But 
the parents thought differently, for on the morrow 
the birds were flown ! We captured the nest after 
a day or two — a small, cup-shaped thing, soft 
as cotton in its lining of fine grasses, and built 
on a goodly foundation of straws and twigs. 

If you think we ever had a second glimpse of 
those young ones, you are vastly mistaken, for 
we never did. But we heard them, O, yes, in- 
deed ! And we spent an hour daily "scudding" 
along on our knees by the hedge, and peering 
up into its green shadows, a very safeguard of a 
hedge, as we followed the deceptive call of those 
wary birdlings — "Pink, pink," in the tiniest, most 
subdued tones, but clearly distinct, and always 
and ever just ahead of where we thought it. Like 
little mice, they crept through the foliage as 
quickly and as quietly. A rustle, a moving leaf, 
and by the time we had shifted our position and 
untangled our hair from the briers the birds were 
far enough away! The old birds followed their 
course in the trees running parallel with the 

77 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

hedge, guided by their baby call, "Pink, pink!" 
To go to their assistance would have betrayed 
their hiding place, and the young explorers could 
be trusted to take care of themselves, for we 
never caught a glimpse of them, not even once! 
The old ones we saw about the garden for many 
days, and the male audaciously swung on the 
grape-vine one morning directly in front of me, 
and entertained me with the most amazing bird 
solo. He kept his eye fixed upon me as if he 
were not quite sure how I would take it after 
his clever outwitting, but, as I could not conceal 
my delight and openly flattered him, he sang on 
and on, executing all manner of musical gym- 
nastics. He sang until I thought he would drop 
from sheer exhaustion, but, only waiting to take 
breath, he would do it all over with variations ! 
After an especially fine bravura he would stop 
and turn on me an inquiring eye, as if he 'd say, 
"Now, what do you think of that?" 

The three nests I captured this summer have 
all gone to a kindergarten in a great city. One 
of them, a vireo's hair-basket, the wind blew 
down to us on broken branches from the pear- 
tree's top, and how different the construction 
of the three nests — the song-sparrow's, the cardi- 
nal's, and the vireo's — and what tales they could 
tell (if they could only speak) to the little city 

78 



THREE BROWN BABIES 

children that to-day are studying them — of their 
making in blossom-time, of little green leaves that 
hid them, of the winds that rocked them, and 
of the tiny, feathered folk they cradled so safely 
out under the stars and the sun ! 



79 



A Night With the Butterflies 

A Butterfly flew into the garden, danced a 
stately minuet mid-air, courtsied, and settled atilt 
the top rail of the old "snake fence." A second 
butterfly flew into the garden, a third, a fourth, 
a fifth, — nine, ten, eleven slowly drifted above 
the alfalfa, imitating almost to a curve the gy- 
rations of the first-comer, as if the word had 
been passed, "Come, haste to the dance !" Fol- 
lowing their leader, the butterflies dropped to 
the fence-rail, huddling themselves together in 
an odd little bunch of folding and unfolding yel- 
low wings. 

Arms on the fence-rail, I studied the butter- 
flies. Suddenly a group of ten or a dozen more 
sailed lightly by, and, as if mesmerized, those 
on the fence rose and followed. Into the orchard, 
out again above the sun-smitten field and across 
the lawn to a cluster of trees, threading their 
way with utmost security as to their gauzy gar- 
ments in and out among the branches of a dark- 
green spruce-tree, coming to rest on an outer 
80 



A NIGHT WITH THE BUTTERFLIES 

ring of twigs. In a breath appeared a horde of 
butterflies coming from the north straight across 
a wide pasture, settling in the circle of trees, add- 
ing a sumptuous touch to the green and gold — 
for the time was mid-September, and elms and 
maples were flaring torches. 

I had been only three days in Kansas, and, lo ! 
a migration of butterflies. 

To witness a migration of this Milkweed 
Butterfly, is, I learn, a rare privilege, for it is 
our only species in America that does migrate, 
and honored were we in its royal progress, bound 
for the Carolinas or the Gulf States. A rol- 
licking, happy-go-lucky sort of crowd they 
seemed. 

An amazing and interesting spectacle we 
found these frail, airy voyagers on that sunny 
afternoon when, by four of the clock (that strikes 
all the time unless its gong is tenderly wrapped 
in cotton batting) , they drifted to us in hundreds, 
like autumn leaves loosed from their moorings 
afloat on summer winds. 

As swallows soaring, curving, dropping into 
the chimney depths at twilight, thus the butterflies 
rose and fell, rose and circled higher — higher, 
up to the very tree-tops; then came tumbling 
back among the leaves, settling and unsettling 
themselves fussily, airily, noiselessly, as though 
a mere contact with a branch made them recoil; 
81 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

if not just the right place — up and away, slowly 
and with dignity ; their selection was daintily 
made. 

Bewildered, I turned from tree to tree — elm, 
maple, spruce, pine — all hung and fringed about 
in the lower branches with hundreds of these 
gorgeous butterflies. On the elms and maples 
they only accentuated the golden glow, but in 
among the prickly pine-needles and the sharp 
little spruce points they stood out clearly dis- 
tinct, a magic flowering, of shape exquisite. 
Flutter and fly and readjust themselves, from 
four o'clock in the afternoon until after six, when, 
from somnolence, or in forethought of the next 
day's journeying, most of this wondrous swarm 
stood or hung immovable on all available twigs. 

In flight, these wanderers seemed bent on 
nothing more purposeful than merry-making, in- 
dolent drifting in ease, dreaming of dainty young 
milkweed shoots and of warmer airs, rising as 
if by common impulse, floating high, and sifting 
like thistle-down back to their resting places. 

On the twigs they strung themselves like 
beads, one upon another; or, rather, the com- 
parison might well be made, they hung in bunches 
as droops the yellow laburnum, the purple wis- 
taria, the fragrant locust blossom. Precisely like 
that they hung, bearing down by their weight 
all around the tree the fine fringe of the spruce, 
82 



A NIGHT WITH THE BUTTERFLIES 

freighting it with Christmas gifts before the time 
of fruitage. 

On one twig alone, measuring nine inches in 
length, with tiny side-springing branches, I 
counted nineteen butterflies, on another sixteen, 
on another eighteen. Though there were many 
more trees and abundance of room for many 
swarms of butterflies, the main idea seemed to be 
to cling close together, wings overlapping wings, 
in cascades innumerable. 

The folded wings are of a pale buff, or pale 
orange, and I found them differing in shade. 
The open wings are of a deep orange, hand- 
somely marked with black, a wide margin on 
the edge of both wings, with snow-white dots 
here and there, while all the delicate veinings 
of the wings are lacily outlined in black. A 
broad, oblique band of black adorns the "falcate" 
border of the front wings. This also is deco- 
rated with a double row of white spots. The 
body is black, and if milord who sports the 
"black and orange" is the commonest of butter- 
flies, he is also the most interesting, the most 
dashing and redoubtable member of the butter- 
fly tribe. Wintering in the tropics is for him 
a season of hilarity, for in the spring he returns 
from his revels all tattered and torn, a very dif- 
ferent Anosia plexippus from the one who sailed 
South clad in fine cloth of gold. 

83 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

Whether or not somnolence, indifference to 
fate, or wing-weariness ruled the butterfly mind, 
I can not tell, but I stood among the swarming 
thousands, at the very least count, and plucked 
them off, one by one, experimenting with them 
and setting them again on the twigs. They stood 
on two feet only, holding up, crookedly, the other 
two, and with the antennae raised high. Origi- 
nally, I am told, they rejoiced in six feet, but from 
disuse the two foremost ones gradually dimin- 
ished in size and shriveled up. I carefully ex- 
amined the leaves and stems to which the insects 
clung, if perchance it might be food they were 
after ; but no, they were not eating — merely medi- 
tating. There was nothing to eat. Later, I learned 
that in summer-time they eat a sufficient quantity 
to nourish their small bodies all winter, so in 
migration it matters not at all that the flowers 
are past and gone. The unfolded wings spread 
four or five inches, and when, here and there, 
bunch after bunch, as in accord, folded and un- 
folded, the effect was fairylike to a degree. 

Set upon my hand, this or that one would 
remain as I placed it for perhaps ten seconds. 
Another would, at the unloosing of its wings, 
flutter instantly upwards. I set them upon my 
dress, to which they clung rather longer than 
to my hand; but not any kind of experimenting 
greatly disturbed them. Going the rounds, I at- 

8 4 



A NIGHT WITH THE BUTTERFLIES 

tempted to count them as far as I could reach, 
but gave it up when I had numbered something 
over three hundred, for they seemed always on 
the move, settling, rising, fluttering about, mixing 
themselves in mazy ways. 

Their custom is to hang from beneath the 
branches, but on all the lower branches, three 
and four feet from the ground, they were clus- 
tered thickly on the upper side of the twigs, their 
wings erect. 

Aloft, where the separate butterflies were 
scarcely distinguishable, innumerable clustering 
wings pointed above the twigs and leaves ; others 
hung from the lower part of the same twigs, 
with wings pointing downward. Among the yel- 
low leaves they were only an added blur of gold. 
Delicately poised on a single spine of the pine- 
needles, they were very beautiful — erect, thought- 
ful, solemnly contemplative, luxuriously opening 
and shutting their filmy wings. Here and there 
one might be found solitary; but the occurrence 
was rare. 

Among the butterflies there was constant un- 
easy motion until dusk drew its curtain round the 
camp. As moved by a common impulse, the army 
would flutter into the air, swaying purposely, 
lazily, as if for the pure joy of being wafted about 
by the breezes, and then come drifting down as 
a sunset cloud 

85 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

Their choice was never in close foliage of 
the branches or near the main body of the tree, 
but on each separate tree they clung to all the 
outer branches and the lowest branches, ring 
after ring around the tree. 

On many of the opened wings, as I moved 
from tree to tree examining, I discerned a small 
black spot on the hind wings, learning later that 
it is the distinguishing mark of the male, and is 
really a pouch or pocket for the protection of the 
scent-scales, which, in the time of a butterfly 
wooing, emit a peculiar odor. As birds vie in 
coloring in mating-time, so the butterflies vie 
in scent ; and while there are many butterflies 
whose scent-scales give forth most pleasing per- 
fume, the scent of the Milkweed Butterfly is 
strangely distasteful to birds and insects; hence 
its immunity from attack and its marvelous rate 
in multiplying. Oftentimes an inexperienced 
fledgling pounces upon one of these tempting- 
looking, flame-colored insects, but the butterfly 
quickly responds with a touch-me-not odor, and 
the disappointed baby lets go. "Probably there 
are few nestlings that have not learned this les- 
son and gone through the same motions, and 
by repeated learnings through successive gener- 
ations, it finally becomes an instinct" — to not 
try that game but once. The common blue but- 
terfly, abundant at Wood's Hole, gives forth a 
86 



A NIGHT WITH THE BUTTERFLIES 

faint perfume of new earth ; the Didonis has a 
musky smell ; another has the odor of violet ; 
in the tiny white butterfly may be detected a smell 
of syringa blossom ; and there is one that is said 
to have the fragrance of sandalwood. 

As to the "mimicker" of this Anosia plexip- 
pus, suffice it to say, its peculiar immunity from 
attack has fostered the evolution of a smaller 
species, but quite distinct as to family, that is 
a perfect prototype. 

One does not often have a regiment in one's 
front yard, and the visitation was too rare to 
be overlooked; so among my winged host I 
encamped for the night on the squirrel's bench, 
and the squirrel did not object, snugly asleep in 
his own house in a crotch of the elm. 

The stars flooded the night with strange 
luminousness. Nine, ten, eleven — no movement 
from the sleepers, if they were asleep. Medi- 
tatively erect, pondering many things, always 
in the same position I found them as I made 
my rounds, once in a while striking a match and 
studying the phenomenon with sleepy wonder. 
If I picked off a butterfly, looked him carefully 
over, and set him on my hand, there he remained 
until I set him carefully back on the twig to finish 
out his nap. In doing this I always selected 
one who stood by himself, careful not to disturb 
his neighbors. 

8 7 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

The night was cloudless and absolutely with- 
out wind — not the turning of a single leaf, and, 
undisturbed, that multitude of butterflies slept 
on, and on, and on, with wings tightly folded to- 
gether. 

Two o'clock, three. All alone am I, in a 
world asleep ! An exhalation of the dying night 
sighs through the trees ; a mysterious sense of 
brooding wings enfolds us ; the hush ineffable 
that comes before dawn falls over all nature. 
Then the keenness of the stars begins to pale, the 
phosphorescence of the sky sinks before a wave 
of gray mistiness from the east. No twitter of 
birds announces day; but far across the meadow 
a hazy curtain rolls up and backward on the sky, 
pushing off the faint stars to make pathway for 
the sun. Glows the horizon palest pinkish-saf- 
fron, strengthening in tint to orange, orange red, 
and rose, with long fingers of shining light reach- 
ing up and up to mid-heaven. Against this sea 
of color stands the forest, a network of black 
branches ; long shafts of light peep beneath the 
dark shadows of the foliage, find room, and shoot 
across the lavender fields of alfalfa in gleaming 
radiance. Day has come, and with its coming my 
butterflies bestir themselves. Like a myriad of in- 
finitesimal fans, the orange wings wave to and fro 
— slowly, drowsily. The sunlight grows stronger, 
rises higher, and falls aslant the fringed trees. A 
88 



A NIGHT WITH THE BUTTERFLIES 

miracle of the resurrection ; for to what else is 
comparable this swift transformation? Not in 
slow uncertainty, as the butterfly bursts from the 
chrysalis, resting from the exertion until the 
crumpled wings expand and grow, fitting them- 
selves for flight; but as if touched with a magic 
wand, this mighty colony is wafted into the air. 
The opening space among the surrounding trees 
is literally aflutter with fully two thousand wings ; 
the air is alive with butterflies. Around and 
about, higher and higher and higher ; then away 
sweeps this army of the air through highest tree- 
tops, to the south — to the south ! 

I follow farther into the grove above, and 
through which they pass, and find here and there 
a swift awaking among other butterflies who 
have camped in my neighbor's trees; but so few 
are these, I would have given them but a glance 
had not my night's watching told me they were 
migrants. 

And so, in a breath, they were gone. On 
their golden wings they carried with them my 
chance for Midas' riches ; for, later, in consul- 
tation with the ex-Chancellor of Kansas State 
University, I learned of a man in New York 
who would have given five cents apiece for a 
thousand specimens of the Milkweed Butterfly! 
"And I myself would have been glad of four 
hundred," said the Chancellor — and I had brought 

89 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

him two ! To have captured four hundred would 
have been easy. 

Within a comparatively recent period, this 
wandering migrant has become imbued with a 
desire to extend his explorations, and has, on 
merchant ships, crossed the Pacific, reached 
Australia, and continued its loitering flight north- 
ward and westward until it has reached Java 
and Sumatra. 

In its migration, it sometimes flies in flocks 
of millions, darkening the sky, and will be all 
day long passing overhead, as flocks of wild 
pigeons fly — -or used to fly, as the kindly at- 
tention of "netters" has almost rendered them 
extinct. 

The migration of these butterflies was to me 
a sight unique, and I astonished the biology au- 
thorities of the university by knocking at their 
doors at inconvenient seasons, demanding knowl- 
edge. I was received with enthusiasm and warm 
welcome, for these biology men were filled with 
joy that, outside of student circles, any one should 
care enough for a butterfly to sit up with it all 
night, and supplied me with numerous books. 
From the accumulated wisdom of naturalists I 
have learned the following: 

This butterfly is rightly named the " Mon- 
arch." The smaller one, the "mimicker," is called 
the "Viceroy." Originally these two were quite 
90 



A NIGHT WITH THE BUTTERFLIES 

different, but certain ones among the "Viceroys" 
that resembled the "Monarch" were avoided by 
the birds; consequently these multiplied tremen- 
dously, the brown markings became more and 
more distinct, the mimicker had perpetuated him- 
self in a marvelous way — the survival of the 
fittest. Natural selection slowly, but surely, 
shapes the destiny of animals, insects, and plants. 
As the Milkweed Butterfly produces many 
broods annually, the countless millions in their 
swarms are not to be wondered at. What is cause 
for wonder among the uninitiated is that, with- 
out exception, the eggs of this butterfly are laid 
upon the milkweed plant. How do they distin- 
guish it? By sight would seem most natural; 
but they do not. It is by smell. Scudder tells 
us : "This is an act of instinct, one will say. But 
is this any explanation? We wish to know how 
the instinct acts. A parent butterfly that in its 
caterpillar life has been nourished upon willow 
has no means, if in the winged condition, of 
tasting the willow to recognize it, its organs for 
obtaining food being only suitable for liquid 
nourishment. Nor can it be by sight." And he 
goes on to give many interesting reasons for this 
last assertion, stating that "butterflies have no 
vision sufficiently clear for such powers of dis- 
tinction as are required of them in selecting 
special food-plants for their young, which they 

91 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

yet discover in an unerring manner. There re- 
mains, then, apparently, nothing but smell. Many 
plants are odorous quite apart from their flowers, 
and the leaves have a special structure, . . . 
from some of which odors are exhaled perceptible 
to our dull senses — perhaps from many others 
perceptible to keener organs." He tells us also 
of "the action of a mother-butterfly seeking a 
spot on which to lay her eggs, hovering about 
certain plants that give forth an odor somewhat 
similar to the one she is hunting, settling and 
half-settling in a dozen different places, drawing 
nearer and nearer to the plant she seeks, and 
finally finding it, there she deposits her eggs. 
Thus it is tolerably clear that it is to sense of 
smell that butterflies owe their recognition of 
botanical species." 

From the north they came, one and all of these 
"Monarch" butterflies; to the south they swept 
away — to the south, to the south, as far as I 
could see them — to Texas, to Louisiana, to Mex- 
ico, to the Carolinas. 

If we marvel at the oriole's flight, the strong 
wing-beat of the humming-bird that carries this 
gleaner of honeysuckle sweets from Massachu- 
setts to Central America, what think we of these 
frail, gauzy-winged butterflies who whirl from 
Canada to Florida in their annual migration? 



92 



A Spring's Mischances 

Ros£-garde;ns all in a row. Star - jasmines, 
glossy - foliaged, clambering, clustering, over- 
weighting wire fence-strings with fragrant lux- 
uriance, china-berry trees of thickest shade, 
young live-oaks, and maples ; such very probable 
places for bird-nests — and yet, and yet, our 
"mocker" would have none of them, but, from the 
vantage-point of an electric-light pole, choicely 
selected the prickly security of a "Spanish dag- 
ger." 

Neighboring was "Audubon Place," quiet, 
untrampled by hurrying crowds, swarming with 
little children, but, for all that, the postman as- 
sured us, "lots of mockingbirds nest there every 
year; yes, 'um!" 

"Audubon Park," with its meadows echoing 
to the pensive melody of the bolder-throated lark ; 
with stately black-birds threading their way 
through the grass, carrying "a chip on their 
shoulder," as who would say they were not the 
landed proprietors; gray pigeons scratching un- 
molested in the gravel. 

93 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

Now, might not any sensible bird find a se- 
cure home in that domain of shine and shade? 

All the leaves were aquiver with exciting 
chatter of housekeeping plans ; bird song and 
conversation resounded through the air. Many 
notes were new to my ears, our Northern birds 
of April holding small place here. The woods 
of Louisiana may be full of them, the islands of 
the Gulf do teem with millions of sea-birds known 
also on our Atlantic coast, but in the beautiful 
parks and cemeteries of New Orleans there was 
dearth. Carolina wrens were much in evidence, 
the ubiquitous blue jay, the red- winged black- 
bird, but I found no such rollicking crowd of 
migrant warblers picking daintily among tree 
buds as you may encounter in spring days "up 
No'th ;" no such scolding crowd of cat-birds ; no 
fluty note of thrushes clad in beech-leaf brown, 
nor the endless gaudy variation of woodpecker 
wings that made flying spots of color in the for- 
ests of Ohio. 

Wander at will beneath the moss-draped trees 
of the "Dueling Oaks" of "City Park," or thread 
the white-shelled silent avenues of "Metairie," 
even venture into the country beyond, out on 
"Metairie Ridge," and the persistent bird-arias 
are, mostly, from the extensive repertoire of the 
mocking-bird. Twice out upon "Metairie Ridge" 
have I heard the exquisite notes of his wooing 

94 



A SPRING'S MISCHANCES 

song. It has been appropriately called the "drop- 
ping song," and in April's nesting-time is not 
rare. Not content with song, the various emo- 
tions of a bird find expression in wing-ways. As 
a child holds up imploring hands, so young birds 
flutter their wings, begging favors. The wings 
are used in expressing anger, as weapons of 
defense, buffeting intruders with powerful blows. 
In joyous ecstasy over his melody droop a bird's 
wings with utter abandon, or they tremulously 
flutter as he stands singing out his heart. Again 
and again have I witnessed this act as if it is all 
done in highest appreciation of their own musical 
ability. Full voice, bewitching "wing-ways," 
gala dress, become all spring-time birds who go 
a-courting. Thus the mocker, minus purple and 
fine linen, all flutter and ado, sprinkles the air 
with silvery notes, and actually seems to fall from 
branch to branch through the thick magnolia 
leaves in conducting his ardent wooing. Of gay 
colors boasts he none! His gladness must show 
itself in motion ; so, singing ever, his throat rip- 
pling over with liquid notes, soft, sweet, insistent, 
he drops among the leafy shadows — low, and 
lower, while the lady of his heart, won already 
by song, watches in sober contemplation. 

"Exposition Boulevard" smacks of the city, 
but, really, it is only a sinuous, winding concrete 
walk flowing at the edge of velvet lawns, along 

7 95 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

the wide green acres of "Audubon Park," and 
on this boulevard my New Orleans "mockers" 
made their home. 

Their movements were at first misleading. 
Hardly had we decided that a stick carried here, 
or a straw carried there, and lodged, made a 
foundation, when our theories were brushed aside 
by swift flight of wings as a different crotch 
was chosen and a string or two carried to the 
new place. 

In and out among the jasmine tangle; then 
the wistaria wooed the capricious pair ; then back 
into the young maples of "Audubon Park," con- 
sidering, and down among the bluets in the grass 
idly fussing with the weeds. Aloft then to the 
swinging bulb of an arc-light, from where they 
took swift survey below, and descended into 
an appalling thicket of thorns — the "Spanish 
dagger." Of all places to make a nest ! But it 
looked good in their eyes ; and here in the closest 
part, among a hedge of five straightly growing 
tall stalks, bristling with bayonets, waterproof 
from the peculiar construction of the gutter- 
shaped leaves, cat-prooi by the needlelike arma- 
ment just four feet from the ground a nest was 
made — a bulky mixture of twigs, rootlets, rags, 
cord, paper, much in kind as a cardinal builds, 
or a cat-bird. Though the nest was quickly fin- 
ished, both birds assisting in the making, no sign 

9 6 



A SPRING'S MISCHANCES 

of occupancy followed for several days. I have 
found, however, that, without a reason apparent 
to me, birds will make a nest and then desert it 
— choosing to build in a new location. On the 
other hand, a certain lazy robin I know of has 
this spring "washed over" (as the farmers say, 
and which means a new fresco of mud) the in- 
terior of her three-years-old nest, and virtuously 
reared her family before the admiring glances 
of an entire university faculty. Also, this spring, 
returning after a two years' absence, I find the 
cardinal has made her home in the sweet-scented 
honeysuckle "next door" to the garden she knew 
and loved so well. Bereft of vines is the old 
white house — no place where she may trust her 
secret! So to-day she rears her second brood 
of the summer in the self-same nest occupied by 
the first brood ! 

But, on a day, this completed nest of the mock- 
ing-bird mother held a faintly speckled Qgg in 
its glossy lining; another and another, until the 
complement of five lay snugly together. This 
laying process seemed not arduous. Scarcely 
long enough to deposit the egg did milady re- 
main upon the nest. It was from choice that she 
constantly absented herself. Then at the call 
of her mate she was most prone to fly out into 
the maple to receive his blandishments and food- 
supplies! But they were hardly "absent," after 

97 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

all. Let any one approach too closely to the fort 
and a warning cail came singing through the 
air, a rush for home, and a quick, soft supplica- 
tion that we would do her and hers no harm, 
for she was the gentlest thing imaginable. 

We prophesied "those eggs will never hatch !" 
but the temperature (90 in the shade) worked 
a miracle, and on the tenth day the first young- 
ster broke the shell, two on the eleventh, and 
on the twelfth five tiny young ones, gray-pink 
in color of skin, with soft gray down stick- 
ing to them here and there, lay, a palpitating 
bunch, among the twigs. It was curious how 
little "brooding" they received. The old ones 
fed them almost constantly, but the naked little 
fellows were not long at a time hidden in the 
warmth of the mother-breast. Scarcely a note 
was heard in the nest's vicinity — I do not recall 
one — until at the end of the chapter, but both 
birds evinced their delight by the odd fluttering 
of wings. A small gray shadow would flit among 
the leaves, would hang above the nest, and for 
many minutes at a time simply stand there rais- 
ing and lowering his (or her) half-spread wings. 
It seemed an act of pure joy. 

Then came the rains. Above New Orleans 
the flood-gates of the sky simply fall apart. Daily, 
under an umbrella that wept, like a sieve, in 
protestation, I waded through the flooded meadow 

98 



A SPRING'S MISCHANCES 

to learn whether or no the mocking-bird was a 
good mother. I found her always on guard, 
nearly always sheltering the babies with her 
wings — eyeing me brightly, confidently. On 
Saturday all was well, the nest was quite dry; 
the plumbing was masterly. 

Another day of deluge flooded the streets 
even-full. At twilight on the Sabbath I ven- 
tured across the dripping green. In a tree ad- 
jacent to the nest stood the two drenched mock- 
ing-birds, disconsolate. At my coming they 
pricked up an eager interest, flying close beside 
me, and alighting on the tip-top bayonet. My 
umbrella I tossed afar, and, drawing nearer, 
peered in among the leaves. A curiously quiet 
little bunch of birds lay there. I looked closer, 
loath to believe in disaster, but all five were quite 
dead ! I stood amazed — the nest was dry as 
might be ! To my friend whose property had 
been leased by the birds, and who came running 
out on the gallery, I announced, "Why, they are 
all dead ! Every one of them, and the nest is full 
of ants !" With wrath and despair, out into the 
flood plunged my lady of the silken gown, and 
there we stood in the fast-gathering gloom, help- 
less, the parent birds flying about in vain hope 
that we might do something ; and, I frankly state, 
the rain-drops were not the only drops that 
traveled down our cheeks! 

99 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

"Well," cried my friend, when she could com- 
mand her voice, "those ants sha'n't have them !" 
and, regardless of trailing skirts, she swept into 
the house, reappearing almost instantly with a 
can of insect-powder. 

"Wait," I begged. "Let us see what the 
old birds will do !" Half an hour we watched. 
The birds came and went and came again, slip- 
ping in and out of the "Spanish dagger," lean- 
ing over to look into the nest, and, without a 
single flutter of wing, uttering a curious, com- 
plaining, questioning, soft note. Small fight 
could they make against millions of insects, and 
it was quite evident the young birds had been 
slowly dying for twenty-four hours from the 
enemy's encroachments. 

Doubled up on porch chairs, the mists blow- 
ing grayly about us, we, together with the birds, 
endured much of the heartache attendant upon a 
funeral. When darkness descended we filled the 
swarming nest to the rim with the destroying 
insect-powder. 

Only one among many is this nest, where 
to-day the young are being destroyed by these 
cannibalistic ants. They are small but pervasive 
— so far unconquerable ; and are said to have 
been brought to New Orleans in a lot of ma- 
hogany wood from Honduras. The impossibility 
of keeping them out of the houses makes them 
ioo 



A SPRING'S MISCHANCES 

detested. This might be borne and dealt with, 
but in every locality about New Orleans the 
birds' nests are being preyed upon — especially, 
I am told, the mocking-bird nests, for they build 
so low. 

Such a walk through Ohio woods pink with 
wild sweet-william. Such talk of summer in 
crystal-clear brook-falls. Such promise of song 
in flashing wings "thorough brush, thorough 
brier." Smoke-blue the far hills. Starred is the 
tall grass in the burying-ground with pink anem- 
ones. A very cozy, comfortable, sunny place 
to lie and listen to the gray-green curly lichens 
softly etching one's name on marble. Whispered 
to by the winds, sung to by the bee, fanned by 
the butterfly's wing — a lilt and a song, and si- 
lence — peace. But "improvement" has become 
the watchword in this quiet old place. This 
vine-wreathed, crumbling old stump must be re- 
moved, that tiny spruce-tree must come down. 
It 's a very baby of a tree, close, thick, dark, 
shaking out a fringe of palest green on the tips 
of its needles. 

Such a sorry place to have seeded ! Directly 
above a double grave. 

"To-morrow," consents the gardener, "it 
shall be done." 

Twitter, and sing, and twitter — a flutter of 

IOI 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

wings, and on the old stump in the corner alights 
a wee brown bird, questioning me as I lounge 
on the hillside, then — away! But not far. She 
alights on a low-lying, aged tomb, switching about 
uneasily, wondering why I do n't go. 

Twitter, and sing, and twitter! Back comes 
my tiny brown neighbor, now balancing herself 
on a curve of stone — 

"Here lyeth ye body" — 

and such a thing of quivering life she is. I 
begin to suspect she is not actuated by admi- 
ration of me, or by desire to scrape acquaintance. 

"Twitter ! Dare I come ?" says she. On the 
next almost-hidden stone, keenly watching; to 
the next, the next, closely a-row ; then half doubt- 
ing, up she goes among the branches. 

Leaning over, I pry into the little tree's se- 
cret. Is there reason why it may be spared? 
Surely. Snug in a crotch swings a hair-lined 
basket. On highest branch waits the owner to 
learn if I come in peace or in war. 

Just a pocket of a nest and one small, blue, 
dark-spotted egg closely crowded to one side by 
a large, muddy-looking, mottled egg. Who had 
been intruding? Shall I thrust it out? My op- 
portunity has passed ; into the nest slips my lady, 
so serene, so confident I mean no harm, watching 
me, her russet head on nest-rim, with soft im- 
102 



A SPRING'S MISCHANCES 

ploring eyes. Thus begins our acquaintance. 
On a later day a long, dusty walk by the "State 
Road" to the cemetery. Off flies the brown bird 
at my approach. Close to the tree I sit — wait — 
watch — listen. Around and about me fly the 
birds. I press down the branches around the 
little brown bowl — three turquoise jewels, and 
yet the intruding egg is there — the mottled, 
clumsy egg of the lazy cowbird. The little 
mother will not return while I am so near; I 
rise and thread my way among grassy hillocks. 
Following me come my small friends, from tree 
to tree. Have I taken those eggs of theirs? 
They suspect, but leave me to make sure, and 
I find the female brooding when I return. This 
time she shows no fear, only the quickened pal- 
pitation of her little body proclaims excitement — 
as I creep near, and near, slowly — O, so slowly, 
with long waits between the inches ; near enough 
now to whisper to her, my face almost against 
the foliage. Enough for to-day ; to-morrow I 
come again ! 

To-morrow, and to-morrow, until she learns 
to patiently abide my presence. With careful 
finger, by degrees I touch the tree. Beseeching 
eyes hold me from the nest's rim. To-morrow 
I touch her! 

But to-morrow she is off when I reach my 
trysting-place. The treasures of the nest have 
103 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

been lessened by two blue eggs. Two children 
who have been raking hay fly before my wrath, 
but there is no locating the stolen goods. Comes 
anxiously the bird, on to the headstones, then 
to the tree, hastily out again, in and out, in great 
perturbation. The tree is the same, but can that 
be her home? Evidently the theft has just been 
committed. Where are her eggs? One egg left 
of her own, one cowbird' s egg. It is her first 
visit after the disaster. Whoever may be the 
guilty ones? How distressed she is! How puz- 
zled ! In and out, in and out, twittering, troubled, 
hurried ; then at last she settles down upon her 
nest, the male bird close at hand partaking of 
her excitement. 

Hay and rake and lawn-mower, moved by 
righteous anger, I toss rods away. If she can 
only be protected until her labor of love is re- 
warded by the joy of rearing one bird and play- 
ing foster-mother to another. Another day and 
the last egg is taken out. But her courage and 
devotion are great. Upon the ungainly egg of 
the cowbird she patiently sits, allowing me now 
to touch her with cautious finger. Nearly ten 
days since the first egg was laid, and lower in 
the little tree is a nearly finished nest. Had she 
made this one first, and, imposed upon by the 
cowbird, abandoned it to build a second? One 
day longer, and beneath the little tree lies a broken 
104 



A SPRING'S MISCHANCES 

shell and the smallest morsel of what would have 
been a bird ! Another mishap in bird-land ; and 
watching the great distress of the bewildered 
hair-birds, my wonderment is that among all 
dangers the song-birds are spared us at all. 

The little nest I left, hoping she might be 
tempted to use it again, but not so; to-day it is 
empty, and the later nest is more securely hidden 
in a trumpet-vine. Would milady have reared 
the cow-bird's offspring in lieu of her own? and 
would she have known the difference? What 
rare opportunity for bird study in the outcome! 
But squirrel, or jay, or "public-school collectors" 
— and their name is legion — are they not devas- 
tating the Kingdom of the Song-Birds? 

On my desk lies a wood-thrush, almost warm 
yet with the life that throbbed through it a few 
hours since. Three strong young birds to her 
credit in a nest that is not too well hidden in the 
pear-tree. That undomesticated creature, the 
family cat, is the villain in the case. Two old 
birds are, however, at the present moment as- 
siduously feeding and guarding a young one that 
has ventured from the nest. Has the male bird 
already picked up a mate? or is it a case of 
charity among the birds ? Knowing a neighbor's 
needs, do they "turn to" and help? Verily, are 
there more things in heaven and earth than our 
philosophv has dreamed of ? 

io5 



Under Oxford Trees 

"The butterfly flutters his wings for her, 

The bobolink twitters and sings for her, 

The hammock drowsily szuings for her, 

Under the apple trees." 

When you can not go to the seashore, to the 
mountains, or to Japan, hang your hammock 
out in the sunny haze of summer afternoons, 
stretch yourself lazily in the soft meshes, pull 
down over you a big umbrella, and all things 
beautiful will come your way. 

About you lies an old-fashioned, sleepy, slop- 
ing garden, hedge surrounded — a fluttering, 
golden boundary to the tall, yellow maples of Sep- 
tember days. The quaint, oval flower-bed thrusts 
out stiff bunches of scarlet geranium, luring those 
will-o'-the-wisps, the ruby-throated humming- 
birds. Pink wigelias, honey-cups for bird and 
bee ; mignonettes, sweet-alyssum, tall, white 
candlesticks of the foxglove; the fragrance of 
wall-flowers, and the bright insistence of nastur- 
tiums that creep about, and flower under every 
leaf. 

1 06 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

The "vegetable garden" is gay with poppies, 
pink with sweet peas, purple and white with flow- 
ering beans ; big golden blossoms of the cu- 
cumber vines usurp all the ground they dare, 
running through the ferny asparagus, sprinkling 
it with yellow stars, and bearing fruit with the 
celerity of ''Jonah's gourd!" Crinkly lettuce, 
yellow-flowering, going to seed ; potatoes, ex- 
hausted in the effort of reproducing their kind, 
dropping their white flowers, drooping languidly 
in the furrows, brown again after all their bravery 
of crisp, green leaves. Beets, purple and green, 
a second crop of tender young peas, a plot 
bearing "mint, anise, and cummin," sending forth 
breaths of perfume ; hollyhocks, proudly erect 
under the wood-shed eaves, crimson, maroon, 
straw-color; wild grape-vines curling along the 
wire fence, and, guarding this smiling spot, 
stands a regiment of armed warriors — for the 
corn is "in the silk." Above this forest of slender 
spears hangs a luminous haze, and from the 
tightly closed lance-like leaves, rippling yellow 
silk goes bubbling and foaming down the side. 
Not yet the toothsome kernel of white, milky 
deliciousness ; the silk is only the precursor, and, 
like blossom and flower, yields its beauty to the 
fruit. 

The marvelous green of this garden is a 
thousand shades — black in shadows, green in 
107 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

sunlight, olive-green, gray-green, bronze-green, 
apple-green — mixing, commingling, glancing out 
in new shades as they are tossed by the winds. 
'Neath your dreamy gaze, the shining waves of 
transparent heat become a tremulous sea, and 
the winds blowing softly through the pines whis- 
per of a salt breeze that will surely drift to you 
from far away ! 

You do not lack for society, as the inhabitants 
of these wide domains, though at first prone to 
chatter among themselves as to what your pedi- 
gree may be, end in coming to scrape loving ac- 
quaintance, and, evidently, go away pronouncing 
you a "jolly good fellow," for they are friendly 
little folk — and so wise ! 

A golden oriole drops from the blue sky into 
the topmost branches of the pear-tree from 
which the hammock sleepily swings. Down he 
comes, lower and lower, threading his way warily 
through the flickering leaves to tilt from an over- 
hanging twig and examine with questioning gaze 
his strange-looking neighbor. A persistent stare 
of two minutes' duration sets his mind at ease, 
and, in silence, he flits to his home suspended 
from the little branches on the long arm of a 
maple. 

Gay in scarlet cap, a woodpecker next ad- 
ventures. Alighting on the iron ring of the 
hammock, he taps vigorously and ineffectually, 
108 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

then transfers his efforts to the trunk of the tree, 
traveling briskly up and down in his search for 
grubs, all the time vigilantly twisting and turn- 
ing his head to see what I am about ; and ends 
by perching on the old wooden windlass of the 
well, to go over the matter in discontented mono- 
logue. 

A slipper inadvertently showing attracts the 
attention of a saucy sparrow, who alights fear- 
lessly on the tip of it, and, to my mortification, 
promptly discovers a hole in the toe, which fills 
him with delight, as tweaking the ragged bit of 
kid exactly suits his teasing disposition. Ex- 
hausting the joy of this, his desire after knowl- 
edge suggests his looking above, and beneath 
the umbrella. He flies to the top of it, slipping, 
sliding over the silk surface, and saves himself 
by a clutch at the side of the hammock. Partly 
in fear, more in curiosity, he comes hopping down 
the edge of the rope, bending over frequently to 
find if, perchance, he is near enough to see under, 
dreading, but firmly determined to gratify his 
curiosity. Reaching the edge of the dark circle, 
he slips quickly into it, gives a "Who 's afraid 
of you?" look into eyes amusedly open, snatches 
at the pages of a magazine lying in my lap, and 
darts out again into the sunshine. 

Within eye-reach, a thorn-tree holds a cu- 
riously located nest. At the first division of its 
109 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

branches, where the thorns are longest, most 
thickly set, and sharp as stilettos, a dove chose 
to construct her home ; in the spring she brooded 
in peaceful security over her family of two bird- 
lings in the midst of this bristling array. How 
she succeeded in the house-building without being 
impaled, or how her children finally journeyed 
into the world without accident, was source of 
wonder. But, as a matter of fact, her small pink 
feet threaded their way daintily, and safely, in 
and out among the threatening poniards. Rarely 
she flew directly onto the nest, but, alighting on 
a branch, picked out a path of safety, slipping 
under and beneath the thorns with marvelous 
discretion. 

A cat-bird resorts to any diplomacy in order 
to hide the location of her nest, but, with all her 
shyness, she is yet a paradox — saucy, self-as- 
sertive. A pair of them had a home in the grape- 
arbor just outside the kitchen door, which I 
discovered by accident. From the hammock my 
glance fell carelessly upon a gray bird quite near 
me in the grass, with her mouth full of straws, 
and on the point of flight. Catching my gaze 
upon her, she instanty dropped the burden, be- 
ginning assiduously to dig for a worm. Watch- 
ing slyly from the corners of my eyes, I saw her 
hop stealthily to her straws and gather them 
in haste, only to drop them again the moment 
no 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

she saw me looking. This was many times re- 
peated, when, finally concluding I must be asleep, 
she took the opportunity of making off (as she 
imagined) unobserved, and I followed her flight 
from the pear tree to the arbor, where her nest 
was barely distinguishable. Each day thereafter 
her maneuvers were wonderful, and the circuitous 
routes she took to divert my attention were many. 
She might be almost upon the nest, and, if ob- 
served, without hesitation would drop the ma- 
terial to saunter, nonchalantly, in the grass. Any- 
thing that came their way in the eating line was 
invariably sampled by the cat-birds, but, among 
all our feathered guests, cat-birds alone found 
a delectable morsel in the — butter ! 

A daintily laid breakfast table each morning 
snugged itself in a cozy corner of the vine-shaded 
porch. A tiny pat of butter shone goldenly be- 
side a plate, and, in time, this yellow cube was 
mysteriously transformed into honey-comb ! 

No trespasser was in sight ! Vainly we spec- 
ulated ! Then, early one morning, "Chloe," the 
cook, with frantic beckonings and excited whis- 
pers, called us to view the culprit. The demurest 
Quaker of a cat-bird stood on the edge of the 
plate, thrusting deep his bill into the tasteful 
dainty! Down would go his head, then straight 
up into the air, as if allowing the delectable sub- 
stance to melt and run down his throat. His joy 

8 III 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

was ecstatic ! His appetite growing with indul- 
gence, his courage, also, keeping pace, for, let 
the tray be transferred to the lap of the dear 
old mother, instantly he followed it, scolding at 
the innovation, but determined to have his share 
at all hazard, until (for sanitary reasons) we 
provided our guest with a private dish. 

Other birds came and went at the breakfast 
hour, eagerly picking up crumbs, but bread with- 
out butter amply satisfied them. 

Soon the cat-birds grew saucily defiant, enter- 
ing the kitchen or dining room through door or 
window, and, marching boldly across the table, 
would attack a large roll or a small plate of 
butter with equal assurance, and when, between 
shouts of laughter at the absurdity, we tried to 
scold and drive them away, they stood their 
ground like highwaymen, advancing belligerently 
across the table ! 

"Why, can't we have that?" "squawk, squawk, 
squawk," slipping, sliding over the damask, skim- 
ming around the dishes, and never surrendering 
until "Chloe's" threatening fist came too near! 
This was of almost daily occurrence throughout 
the summer. 

In November, when fires were lighted, and 
cold rains were upon us, on an unusually gloomy 
morning a familiar bird dashed against the drip- 
ping pane, eager, once more, to taste of butter 

112 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

shining goldenly through the glass — for our be- 
loved "Thrums" lady was breakfasting! 

We opened the window, in hopped the bird, 
onto the sill, and, having eaten with gusto from 
the "pat" we set before him, off he went (with- 
out returning thanks), and we saw him no more! 

In April the blue-birds made a home in the 
cherry tree, directly below one of our windows. 
The male bird had great difficulty in persuading 
his wife that it was a good location, for she 
evidently preferred a snug hole in the apple 
tree, and he spent much time in explaining its 
advantages and flying into the crotch with build- 
ing material, and back to her where she sat 
dubiously considering the matter on an adjacent 
branch ; but, like a model wife, she yielded her 
own better judgment to her lord ! 

The twenty-third of April brought a heavy 
fall of snow, powdering alike the cherry blossoms 
and the mother bird, who by that time was brood- 
ing her eggs; yet she only fluttered her wings 
distressfully to shake it off, while around and 
about her circled her spouse in much alarm, him- 
self a flash of brightest blue through the white 
mist. Much coaxing and strewing of crumbs 
enticed them to our window, occasionally inside 
of it on the window-sill, where, warily watching 
us, they would pick up a breakfast. 

The male bird was game through and through, 

113 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

and as jealous as Othello. A low roof, not far 
from the nest and on a level with it, was his 
especial field for fight. All day long he remained 
a faithful sentinel on a branch close to the nest, 
perching there for hours at a time as immovable 
as the female. Except the excursions for food 
(and fights) this was the daily routine, but all 
the birds of the air fell under his vengeance if 
they dared alight on the roof in close proximity 
— where we had strewn crumbs. Robins, jays, 
sparrows, orioles, cat-birds, big or little — 't was 
all one to him! Down he pounced upon them, 
chasing them in terror, and routing them in dis- 
may. Then he returned to his point of vantage 
with indignant twitterings, scolding away under 
his breath by the half-hour. Even the jays, twice 
the size of the blue-birds, never braved it out. 
Any bird accidentally alighting in the tree which 
held the nest was promptly attacked. The mother 
bird was no whit disturbed by the numerous 
battles, but serenely watched how the day went 
from her snug little home. 

In the old apple-tree stump last year a yellow- 
bellied sapsucker made herself a home; but a 
pair of blue-birds appeared on the scene when 
it was about ready for occupancy, and, without 
ado, the female slipped into the hole and pro- 
ceeded to lay her eggs. The sapsucker showed 
fight when she discovered the imposition, but 
114 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

the male blue-bird, with spiteful cries, flew at 
her, regardless of size, and drove her away. 
Then he took up his station on the stump a few 
feet above where his lady love was hidden, and 
from there kept watch and ward during the time 
of incubation. How competent he felt to cope 
with any rival, large or small ! And, truth to 
tell, most of the birds took precious good care 
not to cross the path of this warrior in coat of 
blue ! 

With the ripening of the pears, the squirrels 
come in gay confidence of the tribute which is 
theirs. The big greenish pears, bitter beneath 
the skin, but sweet-hearted for all that, the "white 
folks" pass by, making them over to sundry little 
darkies of all sizes, shapes, and degrees of shade, 
and they, with the squirrels, grow and wax fat 
each year during the season of ripe pears. The 
bees quickly discover the royal feast at hand, and 
any hour of the morning shows nimble little 
bare-footed darkies dancing around on the look- 
out for stings, as they fill their old hats and 
baskets with the fruit. The afternoon is reserved 
as private foraging for the squirrels, who are 
shy of children's shouts and laughter. At first 
one comes alone, as if to reconnoitre; then back 
he whisks into the campus, calls together his 
friends, and announces, "Pears are ripe! Big 
yellow ones! Same old place!" and in a trice 

115 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

back he comes with his comrades, and there is 
not an hour in the afternoon that a squirrel is 
not busy in the tree. Beneath the hedge and 
across the road they steal, frisk up the elm out- 
side the fence, and, the coast being clear, whisk 
to the grass, skimming over it to the pear-tree, 
where they feel comparatively safe. 

The hammock is not always a desirable place 
when these gay fellows are about. Not even 
stopping to examine the fruit already fallen, they 
run aloft, select for themselves pears that hang 
on the branches, nibble at the stems until the 
fruit falls to the ground, then descend, and in- 
variably select from a score of others that have 
dropped one they have themselves nibbled off! 
Taking it in their mouth, up they go again, sit 
down comfortably, and proceed, in some cases, 
to peel the fruit with their sharp little teeth, 
going round and round it with the precision of 
a patent "apple-parer." 

On an afternoon two squirrels were lunching 
in the tree — old habitues, for one soon learns to 
distinguish them, the "old fat one," the one with 
the "thin tail," the "little one," and the "long, 
lean one" — when a sudden noise of singing, 
laughing children coming up the street frightened 
the revelers. One of them, dropping his plunder, 
flashed to the ground, and, crossing the lawn in 
a twinkling, was safely hidden in the gloom of 

116 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

the pines. The other, with an eye to future 
possibilities, grabbed with his teeth the half-eaten 
pear he had been holding in both paws, and 
jammed it firmly into a crotch of the tree ; then 
followed his companion. When quiet reigned, 
one squirrel stole cautiously into the campus, 
while the other returned to his quarry, scampered 
up the tree, and with great satisfaction finished 
eating the fruit he had saved! 

The chipmunks and the blue jays were direst 
enemies, and spent more time in disputing over 
one pear than it would have taken to devour two 
others. 

Sunday morning a squirrel came early for 
his breakfast, and this time brought it to the 
elm-tree. Bad luck caused him to drop the pear 
when it had been reduced to almost a core. Just 
at that moment a cat, creeping slyly through the 
grass, discovered him, and he had almost reached 
his cherished morsel before he saw her in the act 
of springing upon him. Back he went, with the 
cat following, but as he sprang from branch to 
branch away up to the feathery top, she gave 
up the chase, and, sitting down at the foot of 
the tree, turned the assault into a siege. The 
squirrel barked loudly and furiously, advancing 
to the attack. His squeals were deafening as he 
descended the trunk of the tree, first on one side, 
then on the other, within a yard or two of the 
117 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

besieger, who would then fly at him to his dis- 
comfiture and swift retreat upward. This was 
continued for long, the cat occasionally walking 
around the tree and looking aloft with wishful 
eyes; finally she gave it up, departing slowly 
and indifferently, as if it were a matter of no 
importance after all. 

Not so the victor. Not content with the sign 
of surrender shown in the last wave of her plumy, 
white tail, the squirrel, bristling with outraged 
feelings, sprang from the branches of one tree 
into those of another, following the dignified re- 
treat of pussy on the ground beneath. Over a 
space of a hundred yards he went, in the tree- 
tops, then, still scolding and squealing in a lower 
key, and his bushy tail whipping about with 
rage, he came back to where the battle was 
fought, ran to the ground, picked up the dilapi- 
dated looking fruit and finished it on the spot, 
grumbling, choking, and muttering over each 
mouthful, as he brooded his troubles ! 

These "birds of a feather," or "folks of one 
fur," are not above robbing each other on oc- 
casion. A gray squirrel had conceived the idea 
of bringing hickory nuts from the campus and 
burying them on the lawn. Industriously he 
scratched a hole in the thick grass and covered 
the first one. When he had gone for a second 
nut, the "Parson" arose and poked about with 
118 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

his cane trying to discover the spot, but without 
success. Back came the squirrel and. deposited 
another nut in like manner as the first. Scarcely 
had he departed on a third trip when, from a 
locust tree, a little brown chipmunk came scurry- 
ing down and pounced without delay on the exact 
place where a nut was hidden, unearthed it in 
a twinkling, and, holding it in his tiny paws, bit 
off one sharp pointed end, turned it cleverly 
about, and bit off the other end, then stuffed it 
into his pouch-like cheek and whisked away to 
his burrow somewhere back of the house. This 
accomplished, he tremblingly crept around the 
corner, where, sitting on his haunches and hidden 
by high grass, he kept a mischievous eye on 
further proceedings. The squirrel, all unwitting, 
came and went in happy confidence of his winter's 
store — that was promptly gathered in by the 
small Brownie, who, without one mistake, in- 
variably struck the spot where a nut was buried, 
showing how keen had been his observation. 



119 



A Tragedy in the Tree-Top 

"Oh, they listened, looked, and zvaited." 

— Whittier. 

Stories not only lie around loose for the "pickin" 
among human-kind, but offer themselves to us 
from beneath the rose branches, for there are 
the cardinals and the cat-birds ; from the honey- 
suckle-vines, where madame of the butterfly 
wings locates her lichen-covered home ; even 
from the dark recesses of a chimney, where the 
graceful swift rears her young; and from the 
tips of swaying elm branches, where the oriole 
nests ; from cozy nooks in orchard trees, nests 
of the robins and warblers — everywhere there 
are constant marvelous happenings among the 
birds. 

Judge for yourself of a single robin's nest be- 
neath my window, not long ago, and see if the 
whole of life's love and life's tragedy lay not 
within the tiny circlet of a wisp of grass. 

First came the courtship of these prospective 
home-makers ; then consultations as to where 
that home should be located, the pair finally con- 
120 



A TRAGEDY IN THE TREE-TOP 

eluding, after picking over last year's nest, to 
build in a new place, high on the wind-sheltered 
side of a splendid young maple. Her material 
the female bird found beneath the osage hedge. 
The foundation and the lining were of the usual 
mud, which she carried to the nest on her gray 
wings and ruddy breast. Once on the nest, she 
forced the wet clay to take shape by pressing it 
firmly down with her breast, and so cunningly 
lined the hollow that when we examined it later 
it seemed to have been smoothly turned on a 
potter's wheel. She wove no rags in among her 
material, but crowned the completed nest with a 
circlet of ragged strips of white cotton cloth 
that I tore up and tossed to her, piling it up fully 
two inches above the nest proper. As the rags 
were not a necessary complement to the nest, 
her idea in using them must have been purely 
decorative. The nest when finished presented 
the appearance of a little brown bowl made of 
twigs, grasses, and clay, with a wide rim of soft 
white rags woven about and about and dripping 
down in pendants, and into this downy place the 
robin settled herself, her back deeply curved, with 
head and tail sharply elevated by this unpre- 
cedentedly high rim. 

She had been sitting on her eggs for a week, 
when, thinking to tempt a second robin to make 
a home near her, I ordered a darky to remove 
121 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

from the lowest crotch of a pear-tree the rem- 
nants of the already once rejected nest. Being 
called suddenly away, I left the darky to do his 
work, and, on my return, found he had with 
great difficulty climbed the maple-tree, driven off 
the brooding mother-bird, and rudely torn from 
its fastness the new nest, her hard-built home. 

There it was, tossed on a pile of grass cut- 
tings, two blue eggs broken in its depths, and 
the sides of the nest crushed — a pitiful wreck 
of lovely hopes and artistic skill. The two birds 
were frantic, and had they been jays, would 
probably have picked out the big rolling eyes 
of the marauder ; but, being robins, only flew 
about, distressfully chirping. At my railing that 
stupid darky nodded and grinned appreciatively : 
"Yaas, 'urn! Yaas, 'urn! Fo' de Lawd's sake, 
did I git de wrong one? Dem birds sho' act 
pow'ful upsot!" 

For many years the robins had nested safely 
among these trees, and there was now no remedy 
but to take down the older nest, leaving thereby 
more chances for rebuilding. Hoping against 
hope that the new nest might yet be repaired and 
used again by the birds, it was placed low down 
in a peach-tree, though this seemed adding insult 
to injury. For two days the robins hopped about 
in the grass in seeming bewilderment, stopping 
under the peach-tree and staring up at the nest 
122 



A TRAGEDY IN THE TREE-TOP 

with puzzled eyes. For long minutes they stood 
considering, often gazing up at the old place in 
the maple, as if the whole affair was quite beyond 
their comprehension. But they did not touch the 
damaged nest, preferring finally to begin a second 
home in the campus opposite. When this nest 
was well under way, they seemed unaccountably 
dissatisfied, and coming back to our lawn, tried 
establishing a home in another maple-tree. This, 
too, proved unsatisfactory, the birds going about 
it half-heartedly, finally concluding this would 
not do either, and they came at last to the pear- 
tree closely adjacent to the first maple. Here 
they very warily made their nest. 

All went well until the young birds were 
hatched. At that time a stray Maltese cat at- 
tached herself to the household, and though, in 
fear for our tenants, we tried to drive her away, 
stay she would and did. Just at dusk on a Sab- 
bath evening the Friend of all the birds, sitting 
at her window, saw the Maltese stealing softly — 
O so softly! — over the grass to the foot of the 
tree which sheltered the little home. That meant 
mischief, and the lady of this "Thrums window" 
looking into Birdland could not stand it, and, 
though not too strong, she hied herself to the 
door, and seizing what came "handy," and what 
proved to be a flowering plant called "Patience," 
cast it, pot and all, at the would-be robber. Too 
123 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

late! The cat was up the tree in a flash and 
standing directly over the nest, the old birds flying 
about trying to drive her down. Into the wood- 
shed then hastened this valiant friend, her willing 
but slow-moving feet on an errand of mercy bent 
— mercy and murder. Reinforcing herself with a 
clothes-prop, she dragged it to the garden and, 
with undreamed-of strength, lifted it, and with 
a mighty whack brought down the reluctant 
pussy. Here ended her accomplishments, for 
the "Thrums" lady could not climb a tree, and 
when I returned home it was too dark to investi- 
gate. In the early morning my "farmer girl" 
and I raised a ladder and peeped into the nest. 
There was one half-feathered nestling in it, with 
its head hanging limply over the edge of the 
nest — quite dead. At the foot of the tree lay 
a tiny fluttering robin, the second occupant of 
the nest. He was gasping for breath, and had 
evidently lain in the wet grass all night. The 
latter we returned to the nest, hoping the parents 
would care for it, which they did. They came 
to it, looked at it carefully, and then flew off for 
provender. When, returning, the mother bird 
held the tempting morsel of worm down to the 
little bird, the nestling made no response, but 
lay still as if in extremity of life. The mother 
gazed questioningly, then gently laid the worm 
down beside the helpless infant, as though she 
124 



A TRAGEDY IN THE TREE-TOP 

thought it possible the little one might be able 
to reach it in that way, as this strange condition 
was beyond her understanding. After waiting 
a few moments to see the result, during which 
time the fledgling lay as before, gasping for 
breath, away went the robin a second time, and 
securing another worm, offered it as she had the 
former. This also elicited no response, and again 
she laid the worm beside the youngster, then took 
up the first one she had brought and threw it 
out of the nest. Then, standing on the rim of 
the nest, she watched intently for any movement 
on the part of the occupant, at times calling to 
it with a coaxing chirrup. Then her mate came 
and they talked things over, perching in different 
parts of the tree and tilting away down to see 
if anything transpired below. When, finally, they 
seemed to realize the little one could not or would 
not eat, the female flew to the nest and carried 
away the remaining worm, and they both forsook 
the youngster. All the morning the slowly dying 
bird was alone, the old robins evidently con- 
sidering it a hopeless case. At noon the "farmer 
girl" carrying a tin can holding a few choice 
earth-worms, climbed the tree, and lifting the 
head of the little bird, forced open its mouth 
and dropped therein a piece of "angle-worm." 
In this wise a number of them were forced down 
the reluctant throat, and, trusting to the old birds 

125 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

to carry on the good work, we left the tiny one 
in the nest. But come again they did not, and 
by night the little bird was dead. 

On the second morning after, the parent birds 
were again in the tree. The mother bird, ar- 
riving first, stood on the edge of the nest, and 
after long contemplation, flew away, returning 
shortly with her mate. The old birds studied 
the nest and its contents with almost human in- 
telligence. It was precisely as if one looked, 
then questioned her mate, and the other, look- 
ing also, assured her by a shake of the head that 
this inscrutable mystery of death was quite past 
his understanding. For a long time they stood 
gazing into the nest in a worried way, then de- 
parted, returning and departing several times, 
until, with sudden alertness, they dropped to the 
ground, as if finally they had decided upon a 
course of action — upon what absolutely must be 
done. Busily and quickly they plucked at the 
cut and dried sweet-smelling hay, selecting the 
smallest, most pliable grasses. 

They mean to build again, we thought. What 
indomitable pluck ! But if they meant to build, 
it was on the very top of the old nest with its 
pitiful occupant, for to it they carried their build- 
ing material and worked steadily all morning, 
and as quietly as mice. Not a chirp, not a note 
we heard until the work was apparently done, 
126 



A TRAGEDY IN THE TREE-TOP 

then they flew away, cheerily trilling as if life yet 
had something left for them. The following day 
they came not at all ; if the nest was ready, they 
were not ready to occupy. Neither the next day 
came they, nor the next — not even into the garden 
anywhere, and we again investigated, this time 
bringing the nest to the ground. To our utter 
astonishment, no bird was to be seen. Had they 
carried away the little one? Let us see. Here 
is the nest with its clayey foundation, its sides 
of sticks and straws and rags, and on the top is 
a closely packed mass of delicate grasses, with 
a few more sticks. Not a hollow, as a nest molded 
into shape by a soft, feathery breast, but evenly, 
compactly pressed down, the grasses woven 
around and about the top of the nest, completely 
covering the rags until the whole was tightly 
enclosed. The cup-shaped hollow was full — full 
and running over with a soft mass of hay and 
dry clover blooms laid firmly. Tet us take out 
a little at a time, as this marvel in bird archi- 
tecture lies before us on the moss-covered flag- 
ging. Very daintily we lift a little of the grass, 
a little more — nothing yet ; more and still more, 
until we approach the mud-lined bottom of the 
nest. What is this which now mixes with the 
grasses as we lift it out? 

Feathers, small blue quills, bones, all that is 
left of a tiny, tiny body shrunken, but decently 

9 127 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

covered and safely buried out of sight. Until 
we reached this point in our investigations, there 
was not the slightest indication of the nest's 
contents ; showing how completely the robins had 
done their work and almost hermetically sealed 
the door of this aerial tomb. 

That the old birds meant it for a finality, and 
not as a foundation for a new nest, was con- 
clusively shown by the form of the covering, 
by its light material, and by their complete de- 
sertion of the nest after the work was done. They 
had used no mud, a few sticks, nothing to give 
stability, only what would make a thick covering. 
Whether in despair and simply to cover from 
sight what was so painful to them, or whether 
from motives of cleanliness this curious act was 
performed, who can say? After all, the old 
legend of the "Babes in the Wood," where 

The robins so red 
Brought strawberry leaves and over them spread, 

may be historical, for never before have I heard 
of such a burial among our "little brothers of 
the air." 



128 



Bird Ways in Nest Building 

'Twas a thrush sang in my garden, 
"Hear my story, hear my story I" 
And the lark sang, "Give me glory!" 
And the dove said, "Give us peace!" 

— Jean Ingexow. 

On one of April's sunny days a certain pair of 
"mourning" doves concluded to go to house- 
keeping. Much preliminary "cooing," and evi- 
dent earnest consultation took place over the lo- 
cation of what is, nearly always, the flimsiest 
excuse of a nest. When the trim gray pair kept 
flying in and out of the apple-tree, whose rough 
old branches leaned to the curling shingles of 
the roof below, and when they surveyed the 
premises with extraordinary care, deliberately 
examining the various crotches in the tree, it 
seemed that at last a vein of caution had de- 
veloped in heads usually so little given to fore- 
thought. From roof to tree was an easy step, 
and many a promenade took place, and much 
strutting and pluming was gone through with 
before the real work of house-building began. 
129 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

House-building? Who ever heard of a home in 
an eaves-trough? There, however, was where 
my lady of the "soft, gray breast" deposited the 
twigs brought to her by her spouse. In a tin 
eaves-trough, with half of the twigs and rootlets 
she used lying carelessly over a hole in the pipe 
down which poured the water from a higher 
roof. Almost directly under the over-hanging 
spout she ensconced herself. Unwise little 
"Haus-frau !" Even did not the spout bring dis- 
aster, the water from the short roof on which she 
built would pour into the gutter and devastate 
her home. 

What could be done in such a case ? To watch 
her working so contentedly, taking such risks, 
and not try to help matters, was a plain case of 
neglecting one's duty to one's neighbor, so we 
ascended to the roof and quietly but firmly re- 
moved our neighbor's landmark. There was 
much astonishment shown by the birds — no re- 
sentment, no fear, and hardly had we descended 
when, deciding they knew more about it than 
we, they began again in the very same place to 
build. A second time we scattered the twigs, and 
for a third time the birds, undaunted, stubbornly 
started their nest in the eaves-trough. Then we 
felt aggrieved and left them to their fate, warn- 
ing them, however, as we stood almost within 
hand's reach of the female. "My lady," we said, 
130 



BIRD WAYS IN NEST BUILDING 

"the sun does not always shine as it is doing 
now. Rain is surer to come in April than at any 
other time, and you '11 simply be drowned out. 
Water runs down the roof, not up, and, O 
do n't build there anyhow !" 

But our warnings were devoid of good result. 
She did n't believe ! There never had been a 
flood, ergo, there never would be. 

So she builded then and there, looking down 
en us in mild surprise, as if she'd say, "Go to! 
What do you know of nest-building ? I '11 show 
you something new under the sun." And she 
did. In a short time she was sitting comfortably 
on her poorly built nest — predestined ark, en- 
tirely unseaworthy. For a week the weather was 
unusually and splendidly fair, and the happy 
mother brooded her eggs, looking down at us 
compassionately and thinking, without doubt, 
"How stupid they were, it 's all right after all." 

Suddenly, when the wind was blowing soft 
and warm, up rolled a cloud bank from the west, 
and a cold drizzle of rain set in. At first, well- 
sheltered by the thickly growing leaves, the dove 
was not inconvenienced, but, when the drizzle 
changed to a steady down-pour, matters assumed 
an alarming appearance. 

The poor bird stirred uneasily on her nest, 
twisting about with outspread, dripping wings, 
trying to cover and shelter from the wet the 

131 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

precious treasures hidden 'neath the warm downy 
breast. Finally, when the water came tumbling 
down the spout, opening directly above her, 
rudely washing her wings and deluging half the 
nest, such consternation and pained surprise were 
depicted in her looks and actions as could not 
but move to laughter the most ardent bird lover. 
Her frightened, complaining "Coo-oo-oo'o" was 
echoed by her mate, who promenaded excitedly 
up and down the roof, himself helpless in such 
dilemma. The rain fell without cessation during 
the day, but the bird clung devotedly to her home, 
though the water at last set the nest afloat be- 
neath her. Morning found her still there, and 
still it rained. To sit was impossible, so on her 
poor, little, cold, pink feet she stood guard above 
her wrecked home. 

With intervals of cold mist it rained for an- 
other twenty-four hours, and the question mo- 
mentarily was, "Is the bird yet on her nest?" 
and some one would dash out under an umbrella 
to see. For forty-eight hours she held out 
against the elements, then capitulated, and, with 
feet stiffened by the cold water, stepped clumsily 
onto the roof, and with distressful cooings turned 
to view the ruin. Long hours the two birds hung 
about the place, looking down at the eggs as if 
they wondered if there were positively no way 
to rescue them, then departed for other scenes. 
132 



BIRD WAYS IN NEST BUILDING 

After waiting a day we climbed to the roof and 
found the nest afloat in a miniature lake, the 
eggs, like big twin pearls, resting on a network 
of twigs and rootlets that floated on the water. 
The marvel is that it held together at all ! With 
renewed sunshine the unlucky architects were 
back again surveying the premises, evidently in 
a maze as to how the catastrophe occurred, finally 
deciding to build in the apple-tree, and we mali- 
ciously hailed them with, "I told you so!" 

If you are fortunate enough to own a garden, 
a number of trees, especially old ones, where 
insects do congregate, or above all a thick osage 
hedge, then you may be sure of many interesting 
neighbors. And once you have begun to take 
an interest in the affairs of these feathered 
friends, the opportunities they offer of lively 
sympathy and quick observation are practically 
boundless. The eager call-notes of the birds, their 
rollicking morning chorus, their enchanting songs 
in time of mating, must uplift your heart as you 
listen. 

Their ways of making nests are as different 
as the colors of their plumage, and the location 
of their homes is as variously chosen as there 
are varieties of birds. Some birds nest in the 
deep woods, retreating to solitary places to rear 
their young. Others more sociable, less fearful, 
are happy and content in making homes where a 

133 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

food supply is sure to be on hand, so build near 
to houses. Among the latter class we find but 
few that will^not respond to overtures in the 
way of cotton, strings, wool, or plant fiber hung 
out to help them in their home-making. But 
robins, blue-jays, red-headed woodpeckers, Bal- 
timore orioles, cat-birds, and sparrows instantly 
and literally "catch on" to any suggestion of the 
kind. 

This spring a sudden influx of birds of all 
kinds kept us alert in following their movements. 
Among so many hunting for locations, we hardly 
knew which to choose for study. This migration 
of so many species at once was probably owing 
to rarely warm days in March, so that birds which 
might have gone farther north concluded to re- 
main here and mate immediately. Quickly all 
seemed engrossed in nest-making, and "scrap- 
pings" were the order of the day, for invariably 
a fight ensued if one bird happened on a piece 
of material especially desirable. They will util- 
ize almost anything in the way of string, black, 
white, blue, cotton or wool, but red or yellow I 
found they would not use. 

The thrush, though never presenting herself 
among the other birds when they came for ma- 
terial, yet by some means helped herself to the 
best. 

All we saw of her at first was when she came 

134 



BIRD WAYS IN NEST BUILDING 

hopping about under the hedges, peering under 
the dead leaves for insects. Then in secrecy 
she made a nest low down in an old apple tree 
that was a part of the high, thickly leaved osage 
hedge at the end of the garden. Her soft notes, 
"Tir-o-lee ! tir-o-lee !" led us to the locality of 
her nest, but so thick was the foliage we could 
not see it without prying too closely into her 
affairs. The spot was as secluded as the woods, 
and cool and dark. Cannily though she hid it, 
when the leaves fell in October we captured it. 
It was marvelously constructed of rootlets 
and long, brittle, sharp-thorned osage sticks, and 
was on one side made more secure by a small 
dab of mud. The inside was of fine rootlets, 
and the outside showed decorative aspirations 
quite in keeping with nineteenth century ideas. 
A string or two and a bit of cotton hung to it, 
and on one side, caught in festoons, was half 
of a lace handkerchief. A rag of a thing the 
bird had taken from the lawn, in all probability, 
but strangely delicate and graceful in its present 
place. The bit of linen and lace was crossed and 
recrossed by the thorny sticks which served well 
to hold it in place. In a few weeks after we 
had seen our thrush scratching about the garden, 
and when we had quite given up finding her 
nest, though we daily saw her flitting about, she 
came early one morning through the wet grass 

135 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

with a brood of youngsters trailing behind her, 
the entire family dressed in new spring gowns of 
a lovely russet color. 

The thrush is among the most graceful of 
birds, and the elegance of her shape, trim, slender, 
exceedingly well-groomed, marks her the aristo- 
crat. The purity of tone which we hear in the 
warbling of the thrush can never be confused with 
other bird tones. 

My neighbor one morning laboriously tied 
many strings to the lower end of the grape-arbor 
for her sweet peas to climb upon. After finish- 
ing, she proudly surveyed her work, washed the 
dust from her hands, and went off to a "mis- 
sionary meeting." We, who remained at home, 
were better entertained, for, on her departure, 
the fun began. A robin's sharp eyes caught 
sight of that tempting array of strings, and in- 
stantly she flew to the top of the railing and 
with might and main tweaked at the knots. Ex- 
citedly she hopped the length of the rail, testing 
each knot in succession, and pulling so hard she 
threw herself off the rail several times. A second 
robin joined her, and they both jerked and twisted 
and pulled in a vicious way, but those knots were 
made to stay. To the ground they then went, 
standing on "tiptoe" to reach the top of the small 
twigs to which was tied the other end of the 
strings. In some cases those knots held, in others 
136 



BIRD WAYS IN NEST BUILDING 

up came twig and all — the tender young sweet- 
pea shoots also. Then back to the railing 
went the birds, where they leaned over, and pull- 
ing up the strings, tried flying off with them, 
only to be jerked back each time, and ended by 
pulling up all the strings and festooning them in 
a hopeless tangle, until the rail was garlanded its 
entire length with a netting of twine, and my 
neighbor at evening was a sadder and a wiser 
woman, as she viewed the ruin of her plants. 
We came to the assistance of these birds 
finally by tossing on our terrace a lot of long 
"carpet rags," in blue, white, yellow, and red, and 
instantly the robins came to them. The rags 
were three-fourths of a yard long, and one-half 
inch wide, but the birds greedily grabbed not only 
one at a time, but two and three, taking them 
up in successive mouthfuls, until several loops of 
blue cotton string hung from either side of their 
bill, and with long trailings of strings they flew 
heavily to their nest; one in a maple that had 
been "topped" and where the new branches made 
the securest kind of home. But here the robin's 
feet tangled in the ravelimgs, and she could n't 
possibly use all she had, trample it down and 
cuddle in it as best she could, so at least half 
a yard of blue rags and white rags flaunted out 
from the green. Into a pear-tree crotch the other 
bird carried her stuff, but a blue- jay swooped 

137 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

down and carried it out for her as soon as her 
back was turned. She, too, liked rags, but pre- 
ferred taking them where she could easiest get 
them. Once the jay deliberately snatched them 
from the robin's mouth as she brought them to 
the nest, with the result of a "set-to," with the 
jay coming out victor. 

A Baltimore oriole swinging her nest in the 
branches above, came down to examine the ma- 
terial and lightly carried away a few blue ravel- 
ings delicate enough for her dainty nest, but she 
evidently did not care much for it. To-day this 
nest swings from the branches heaped full of 
snow, and a little cone of snow topples rakishly 
above the rim. The red-headed woodpecker sol- 
emnly hung to the side of a cherry-tree, watching 
the proceedings with deep interest, becoming so 
charmed with the idea of a carpet-rag nest that 
he finally descended, possessed himself of one 
streamer, and flew off to a dead elm where he 
had a hole. There he dallied with it a while, then 
dragging it half into the hole, left a trailer out 
as a door-latch. The red and yellow rags were 
one and all declined by the birds. At first sight 
they really seemed to be afraid of them, and 
would n't come near, but after long looking they 
finally ventured to flirt them about, but in no 
case ever used them. 

The building of a robin's nest is a curious 

138 



BIRD WAYS IN NEST BUILDING 

sight. Watching its inception, you will see that 
mud is the chief ingredient of its foundation. 
Mud again for a lining, which you will find as 
clean and neat after the brood has grown and 
scattered as it is in its beginning, for the robin 
is a tidy little mother. A very rainy day is the 
time the robins select to make a beginning. 
Down onto the soft brown earth beneath the 
hedges flew our bird, pressing her soft fluffy 
breast close into the soil. There she screwed 
herself about and about, cuddling down into the 
clammy mixture as if to be wet and sticky was 
the most pleasurable sensation in the world, and 
when a sufficient quantity of mud had adhered, 
up she went to the pear-tree, flying with difficulty, 
her wings, breast, and claws all dripping with 
yellow mud. This she plastered to the tree with 
the same screwing motion, adding to it again 
and again until it seemed beyond hope that her 
feathers would ever be bright and clean. To 
this foundation she added sticks, straws, strings, 
finishing it all with a nice, soft mud lining, which 
of course hardened smoothly. 

The house-wren (except the humming-bird, 
the smallest bird that comes under our eye as 
she builds) is extremely sociable and not in the 
least shy. Her bright eyes peer into every nook 
and cranny as she darts about searching for a 
snug place to build, and in the unlikeliest places 

139 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

you are likeliest to find her making a home. A 
nest last year of this fussy little person was 
made in a place unique. A man who worked 
in the brick-yard, on coming home one Saturday 
night, hung his dusty trousers on a clothes-line 
in his garden. This was at dusk. Early the 
next morning a wren came tilting lightly on 
the line, examining the flapping garment with 
great intentness. The lining in the upper part 
swung loose from the outer material, and being 
turned over the line so that it hung upside down, 
formed a sort of pocket. Here the small lady 
concluded was a rare opportunity, a nest made to 
order, needing very little more to make it habita- 
ble, and in a trice she set to work, bringing sticks, 
straws, feathers, and rags, and stuffing them 
into the hole as fast as she could. She worked 
all day, and some one volunteered to furnish 
another pair of trousers if he 'd let the nest stay. 
But, whether he was dubious as to the fulfillment 
of the promise, or whether he thought a pair of 
trousers that would be tossed by the winds and 
soaked with the rain was too unstable a place 
to raise birds in, next morning he unceremon- 
iously emptied the odd collection upon the ground, 
to the great dismay of the busy worker. At 
another time she built in a piece of stove-pipe 
high shelved in the stable. When I mounted a 
140 



BIRD WAYS IN NEST BUILDING 

ladder and turned my camera on the family, lo! 
the youngsters flew swiftly out over my head ! 

Nearly every crotch offers to us, in the fall, 
free gifts of bird-homes for study. To secure 
these empty shells is an easy matter, to pull 
them apart, marveling at the different materials 
used, the skillful weaving, all the wonders of 
bird architecture. 

Without the foundation there would be no 
home, no hearthstone to fight for, no young ones 
to protect, for the birds are true patriots. In 
summer time you dare not touch a single straw, 
but, by then, you may be cannily wise, having 
"taken time by the forelock." 

Our harvests over, the birds glean the fields 
like mice. 

Fruit time is hey-dey for them. Berries, 
cherries — how they do eat cherries ! stripping the 
tree in "no time," the owner not getting a dozen ! 
— peaches, pears, apples, grapes — birds, bees, 
squirrels, that is the calendar precisely. Many 
vineyards are guarded, patroled, to drive away 
the birds, so great has been the devastation. 

If one's bread and butter depend upon the 
grape — well and good. But if one is content 
with a crust in favor of the birds, let the bac- 
chanalian revel go on. 

Of our Isabellas and Delawares, season after 
141 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

season, it was delicately pointed out to us that 
half-ripe grapes held nectar as palatable to my 
feathered friends as did the wine-colored ones. 
Thus persuaded, we yielded both argument and 
fruit to cat-birds, orioles, cardinals, and others 
of their ilk — a tippling crowd. Our Bartletts and 
Seckels went the same road, but "the game was 
worth the candle." 

Such confidence they had in me, all those 
birds of the air — swinging high, swinging low, 
looking at me right saucily, as I stood by, re- 
signed, while they regaled themselves on my — 
preserves ! 

Squirrels came in hordes, having passed the 
word about, "There 's a very odd farmer lady 
lives there. Nuts in winter, fruit all summer! 
Come along!" 

As strikes a hawk from the blue, so, on a day, 
swept a saucy jay into the peaceful assemblage 
of birds and squirrels in the pear - tree - top. 
Straight he struck (a bristling bunch of blue 
and white) at a pear held in the paws of a big 
gray squirrel. Jam ! — like lightning, into a hole 
went the pear, and off flashed the squirrel to the 
tip of a bough, squealing with rage. Triumphant 
was the jay! He had no need for paws to hold 
a pear! Into the fruit went his bill — thump! 
and lo ! out of sight and reach went the pear. It 
had simply dropped through, and into a wood- 
142 



BIRD WAYS IN NEST BUILDING 

pecker's hole, falling twelve or fifteen inches. 
Astonishment was depicted in feathers ! The jay 
drew himself erect, raising his crest like an in- 
terrogation mark, then he leaned far over to peer 
into the mysterious opening, squawking fiercely 
at being outwitted. 

After hopping from branch to branch, loath to 
relinquish the prize, off he flew in a rage. Back 
came the squirrel with furious lashings of his 
tail, and scolding chatter, looked all about him, 
squatted on his haunches, folded his forepaws 
pathetically over his breast, and with head turned 
to one side solemnly pondered the uncertainties of 
life ! 

My own experience with birds has shown me 
that, almost without exception, all birds like fruit 
of any kind, from berries on up the scale to plums, 
apricots, peaches, etc., and all birds listed as seed- 
eaters or berry-pickers, or devotees of the large 
fruits, become high livers on a diet of raw meat, 
suet, soup-bones, and last, but not least, enjoy- 
able to them, comes "johnny-cake," and, when 
"piping hot," we tossed it to them on the 
snow-covered porch, to the feast came all win- 
ter birds of the air. Jays, blue and bright; 
cardinals, red and olive ; nut-hatches, gray and 
black and white, guinea woodpeckers, down- 
ies, junco's, hairies, flickers, red-heads, brown 
creepers. They liked nothing better than the 

10 143 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

"corn-pone," and would sail away with a piece 
in their mouth — steaming. Cold weather, snow- 
covered fields, and seed-bearing plants engender 
a lively confidence in mankind among these usu- 
ally wary bird neighbors, and they troop into 
my garden and on to my window-sill to see what 
"pickin's" may be there. The chickadees show 
utmost confidence, feeding from my hand, hop- 
ping from finger to finger with the agility of 
trapeze performers. Cedar wax wings are also 
most friendly, and the tufted titmouse, and as 
the tiny white-breasted nut-hatch flits away, it 's 
ludicrous to see his place taken by the guinea 
woodpecker (or red-bellied woodpecker), so big 
he looks, so awkward, so beautiful, red-capped, 
and in dress of checkered pure white and black. 



144 



Days With a Mother-bird 

"Let the wailing of the killdeer be the only sound 
we hear." 

"Peep! pEEp! peep! pEE-EE-EEp!" Sudden out- 
cry pierced the early morning stillness. 

"Tiptoe upon a little hill" that fell sharply 
away to the wide expanse of a winding, rocky 
creek-bed I stood agaze. A desert-place, in- 
deed, for bird nests ! 

The smooth emerald carpet of the hillside, 
cattle-cropped, daisy-dotted, dandelion-strewn, 
with fairy seed puffs unrolled itself softly undu- 
late, and in a cup-shaped hollow a tiny lakelet 
mirrored trembling tree-shadows by day, and by 
night held a lap full of stars. On pale brown 
wings a myriad of killdeer skimmed in slanting 
flight above the bottom-lands, circled, soared, 
shouting dismay. I laughed an answer to the 
fearsome hubbub that betrayed what it meant 
to hide ! Trying to proclaim that no nest of theirs 
lay in that vicinity, their very outcries proved 
their undoing. 

On my hurried descent two birds dropped into 

145 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

the lush meadow grass vehemently "churr-urr- 
urring" — (a sort of rattling call) to attract and 
distract my attention. "Stay with us in the 
meadow" was their meaning. "There is nothing 
of interest beyond the fence ! and behold our dis- 
tress of broken wing ! come our way !" Witlessly I 
trailed through the wet meadow in the wake of 
one bird, and another. No nest — no nest any- 
where ! In disgust I turned my back upon their 
ruses, crept between the sagging wires of a 
barbed fence, and trod a determined way to the 
water's edge. Overhead comes a hurrying sound 
of wings, comes falling on the air outcries and 
warnings, "Peep-peep-pee-ee-eep !" and alighting 
in front of me on the sandy shore the birds scurry 
east and west, giving me wide choice of direction. 
"Ten feet from the hole in the fence" had been 
my instruction as regarded this particular kill- 
deer's nest. Ten feet to the left, ten feet to the 
right, ten feet straight ahead. No nest — or indi- 
cation of a nest. Wander and wander through 
long "blue-grass" — to-day not "blue," but mistily 
tasseled with the reddish purple of seed-time, my 
tramping feet crushing spicy perfume from crisp 
young mint-leaves. Above my head, ever circling, 
fly the white-breasted, white-throated birds, keep- 
ing anxious eye on my movements. Surely "I 
burn," as children say, when these shyest of birds 
come so close. A small, stony elevation just be- 
146 



DAYS WITH A MOTHER-BIRD 

yond the high-water mark I stumble upon, walk 
over it, and about it again and yet again, and 
only the Providence that holds in account even 
the English sparrow prevents my clumsily step- 
ping on the eggs that, in wild joy of discovery, 
I finally see ! 

(However, I defy almost any one but a kill- 
deer to distinguish such eggs from the stones 
on which they lie!) Precisely are they the color 
of them, a muddy gray, black-splotched, sharply 
pointed at one end. Three eggs in a small hollow 
scooped out on the very highest point of the emi- 
nence which is a mixture of rock and earth and 
straggling grasses. The hollow is as large as 
my two palms, and a curiously hard bed for a 
thing so delicate as an eggshell. The lining is 
of tiny pebbles closely, evenly laid (brought by 
the birds from the brook-side?), mayhap 
scratched together from the gravelly surface 
about the nest. On the pebbles lie a few bits of 
bark — this is all in the way of nest-building. 

My long examination causes much worry to 
the owners of the little home, who excitedly 
"Peep-peep" — (it seems their only note) and 
come running quickly up near me, turn their 
back, squat upon the ground, and flutter their 
wings in rapid succession. What instinct, or 
thought, leads them to a belief that I — deluded 
by vibrating feathers — will hurry to the rescue 

147 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

of a wounded bird ? How strenuous their efforts ! 
How firm their faith in their own powers of de- 
ception ! Closer they come — and closer. It 's 
very funny to see them run through the grass 
like quail, then stretching themselves high on 
''tiptoe" peer at me through the clover, then de- 
liberately turning about, roll on the ground, 
feigning distress. We have vet to become ac- 
quaint, you see, and 'twill be a work of time. 
Out in the hottest sunshine lies the nest. No sign 
of shade, or shelter, or even protection from bush 
or brier. A fir-tree stands forty feet to the east, 
a cottonwood claps its leaves loudly forty feet to 
the west, but too distant are both for bird study. 
Under an old red parasol I establish myself in 
the grass about fifteen feet from the nest. 

Our first day leads to little of intimacy. Not 
once does the female approach the nest. At 
noon-time when, under the cotton-wood, I break 
bread, and unsling my pail of milk from a leafy 
branch, both birds fly to the nest — long contin- 
uing there. The whole day is spent in little runs 
to and from the sandy shore, in incessant efforts 
to lead me away; and in sallies over the fence 
into the meadow, loudly calling me to "come." 
It actually hurts to see the fear of the mother- 
bird. Her devotion brings her near, and nearer, 
with almost ceaseless cries, and wearisome, use- 
less signals of distress. She crouches deep in the 
148 



DAYS WITH A MOTHER-BIRD 

sand — almost burying her head; she lifts high a 
wide out-spread wing ; she opens her white-tipped 
tail into a broad pointed fan ; she — all a-fluffy, 
much puffed bunch of feathers — lifts her sleek 
head and turns it over her shoulder watching 
me between uplifted wings. On the pond's edge 
in the meadow she trails herself brokenly, em- 
ploying all her arts to rid herself of me — un- 
welcome guest that I am ! From side to side she 
turns herself, one wing, then another used as 
"decoy," ever and always her note is a long-drawn 
humming "churr-urr-urr-rr !" 

June sixteenth marks an advance in her cour- 
age. At sight of me she hurries limpingly from 
her eggs, in vain hope that she and they are un- 
discovered. Her flight to-day is shorter, low 
among the grasses she stares back; then jumps 
up, runs toward me, halts, "bobs" up and down 
with that oddest of motions among birds, utter- 
ing every second her harsh complaining "peep- 
peep." Again she "turns tail," not in cowardice, 
but in invitation — "come and follow," or admire 
the beauty of her plumage — the gay orange spot 
at the base of her tail that flaunts itself as she 
lowers that appendage sweepingly, every single 
feather spread wide. Altogether confident is she 
of outwitting me, of winning my compassion for 
her sorry plight. 

Finding her maneuvers useless, by degrees she 
149 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

creeps back to the nest, comes to the edge, "bobs" 
and "peeps," and, by actual count, just twenty- 
three minutes she stands in the same position, 
then at last she steps upon the nest, her long, 
bare, delicate little sticks of legs wide apart, one 
on either side of the nest. By count, again, she 
stands and "bobs" for fifteen minutes, her back, 
of course, to me this time, but a watchful eye 
out over her shoulder, for her eyes being set in 
the sides of her head she can only see me with 
one at a time. 

No tent is mine, nor cover of leafy greenness 
— only a very mushroom of scarlet umbrella that, 
in exhaustion, I change from hand to hand, all 
the time coaxing my lady to try and believe in 
my good intentions until, convinced that she has 
found the secret of perpetual motion, I stretch 
myself prone upon the earth, keeping her in eye- 
range through mimic avenues of tossing, waving 
blades o' grass. Presto ! on the instant my lady 
sits down! I am not so formidable it appears 
when only my head is above the grasses, and the 
mushroom of red looks only like some foreign 
tropical blossom ! Triumph number one — for the 
distance between us I have gradually lessened to 
six feet. All my soft assurances that I "will not 
hurt her," all my asseverations, "Why, you know 
me!" have at last made impression — the tone if 
not the words, and, though it may sound inane, on 

150 



DAYS WITH A MOTHER-BIRD 

paper, I found this wild bird of the shore grew to 
know my voice as would a caged canary. Her sit- 
ting is often interrupted. She half rises, "bobs" 
over the eggs, watches me, "peeps" perpetually, 
then pantingly sits once more, her long bill wide 
open, her throat palpitating with quick, suffocat- 
ing heart-beats, the saliva dripping without cessa- 
tion from the tip of her beak. My heart smites 
me at this. If the emotion causing the flow is one 
of fear or anger I can not say, but I incline to 
believe it the former. At my least change of 
position she rises and runs away, but returns 
shortly, stares me out of countenance, and sits 
down again. 

June seventeenth shows even less fear on her 
part, and the space between us is lessened by 
inches, truly, to four feet. June eighteenth she 
rises from the nest at my approach, but, without 
"trailing," or in any way attempting to distract 
me, only scanning me closely, greeting me with 
a single note, again she folds up her legs and 
sits down. Her back is toward me, so, as she 
stoops, I can plainly see the motherly, brooding 
way in which the white breast-feathers are fluffed 
up to receive the precious eggs. There seems 
reason in which she turns her back, invariably, 
before sitting on the eggs. In this position she 
is ready to run at a moment's notice, and, without 
taking time to whirl about, may fall into the grass 

151 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

as a bird would do that had been shot — for not 
once in all the days of our intimacy did she cover 
the eggs in any different position. 

Long at a time did she go without food or 
drink. For hours at first, for though the male 
flew above her bringing provender from the shore, 
he would not alight while I was near. My voice 
held no charm for him ! Ever suspicious, ever 
calling to her "Beware! beware!" from shore 
or meadow, from first to last he maintained a 
strict aversion to the "stranger within his gates." 

Time a'plenty had I in those long, drowsy days 
of waiting for the eggs to hatch to study the little 
world astir in the grasses. To wonder how the 
bee found honey amid the tiny whorl of blossoms 
that climbs the tapering green fingers of the 
"buck-horn" plantain ; up and up go the tiny 
wreaths, leaving in their wake a harvest of loose 
brown sheaves that at a touch scatter like chaff ; 
to wonder why the "Devil's darning-needles," 
stitching among the clover-blossoms, should be 
of changeful hues — iridescent, sky-blue ; and why 
the ants toiled up one grass blade only to 
run down and climb another, in fashion of 
trained scouts. Wonderful atmospheric changes 
fall on the quiet land from faintest dawn to dusk. 
Early morning — and the tree-filled valley sub- 
merged in a sea of mist. A soft wind rends it 
into filmy gray veils, flings them about until the 

152 



DAYS WITH A MOTHER-BIRD 

sun comes up, and by his alchemy transmutes 
them into gold, then burns them as incense to 
himself. The water-willows marching along the 
banks show the pale under-side of their lance- 
shaped leaves — an olive green ; then under a twist- 
ing wind they twinkle brightly in apple-green. 
A fine sifting snow floats lazily in air — tiny white 
feathery flakes from the black seed-pods of the 
cottonwood-tree, and down onto my book drifts 
a small yellow feather — a "carte de visite" from 
the flicker — preening himself somewhere in high 
branches. A shimmering haze hangs above the 
soldierly corn, hollyhocks, pink, white, rose-color, 
crowd the fence corners ; a dashing king-fisher 
swings through the air to perch solemnly on a 
fence-post and philosophically try a "fisherman's 
luck" in the bubbling, mint-sweetened waters of 
the creek, while, from afar, come the patient calls 
of the ploughman. High noon — and all the air 
fragrant with sweet smells and a'hum with dozy 
insects. 

June nineteenth. Surely is the sitting bird 
now resigned to the companionship forced upon 
her! When I creep through the "hole in the 
fence" she utters not a single chirp ! Carefully 
I walk past her to reach my accustomed place 
on the other side, talking to her always. She 
rises, makes an obeisance, mildly questions me 
"Pee-ee-eep?" and resumes her place. To-day 

153 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

as I lessen the space to three feet she only looks 
over her shoulder, but does not rise. Her once 
panting mouth is closed at last, her whole alert 
body relaxed. Her throat, with its two bands of 
velvety black, no longer throbs to frightened 
heart-beats. The water no longer drips from 
her bill — an immense comfort, this, to me. If, 
weary of the broiling sun, I seek shelter neath 
the cotton-wood, she instantly follows, afar off. 
Let the red umbrella again move toward the nest 
and she slips through the grass like a sprite, and 
is ready with quaint genuflexions on her side of 
the nest when I reach mine ! and without concern 
turns her back and sits down. 

The twentieth, twenty-first, and twenty-second 
are only repetitions of each day's work, the bird 
showing less of fear at each visit. Any .change of 
program drives her wild with fright, and a black 
umbrella substituted, thoughtlessly, for the red 
one sent her away from my vicinity for a whole 
afternoon. Also, if I am lying in the grass she 
feels more confidence. 

At sun-down on the twenty-sixth day much 
excitement was shown by both birds. I had come 
late, and the old birds flew about in apparent 
anger. Cause sufficient they had — one egg was 
missing. Two eggs, however, required, and re- 
ceived her most devoted care until the twenty- 
ninth day of June. Noon-time, sleepy-time, but 
154 



DAYS WITH A MOTHER-BIRD 

more commotion and crying from my friends the 
killdeer than ever before. From my hill-top I 
felt something very unusual must have happened 
— and ran hastily down to find out. Directly at 
my feet dropped the female when I stood beside 
— an empty nest ! How she quivered, and trem- 
bled, and rolled about in the grass ! "Look at 
me-me-me !" while the male squawked and flut- 
tered and dragged himself about, a close second 
in appeal! Well — what could I do? No young 
birds, no shells, simply an empty nest ! A small 
stony spot, a bit of brownish sand, gray pebbles, 
clusters of "bunch-grass," but not a youngling 
to be seen ! My verdict was — theft ! Out of 
heart with bird work, I drop down among the 
grasses, puzzled over the antics of the old ones. 
The male disports himself, and "brags" of his 
wounds directly in front of me, but the instinct 
of the female is too strong — it can not brook 
suppression — she daintily picks an insect here 
and there from among the grasses at the nest's 
edge — aha ! young birds are about somewhere ! 
(for, though she does not feed her babies, she 
does "catch" the food, and breaks it up for them, 
or scratches it from the ground for them to pick 
up), and gladness succeeds despair. Putting out 
my hand to help myself rise, lo ! I lay it almost on 
a small brown object lying flatly on the ground! 
one of the young killdeer! Hardly out of the 

155 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

shell and warmly feathered ! Nearby is the second 
bird-baby, and both are exactly ten inches from 
the nest. Perfectly inert they lie — two mottled 
brown splotches scarcely larger than a silver dol- 
lar, and on one side protrudes a funny little brown 
head for all the world like the head of a turtle. 
In wonder I lift first one, then another, and 
lay it in the palm of my hand. The bright black 
eyes are wide open — so different from tree-born 
babies ! Scarcely out of the shell and able to 
walk ! To run, I should have said, for, as I put 
down the first one he staggered up on a very 
drunken pair of legs and tottered, like a palsied 
old man, off among the weeds. Taking the re- 
maining morsel of bird in my hand, I held it out 
to the mother who, with much talking, had come 
and stood almost within my reach. I said, "I 
have it — here it is, see? Your little bird — see?" 
Though not a linguist, I think she knew kind- 
ness when she saw it, and she also knew me, for 
she "bobbed," and courtsied, and circled about 
me, just out of reach, in evident maternal pride, 
and I felt that we were each congratulating the 
other on the successful issue of her nursery af- 
fairs ! Then the faint calls of the baby who had 
lost himself in the weeds sent the mother running, 
though her backward glances showed a divided 
heart, fearing to leave me wholly alone with the 
one, and to lose the other in the tangle-weed. 

156 



DAYS WITH A MOTHER-BIRD 

Back to the nest straggled the venturesome 
one, an anxious mother jerking along behind him. 
When I laid down the one I held she hastily 
''stepped aboard" and brooded them. But the 
world was too new and interesting to be so soon 
forsaken. An inquisitive head pushed itself out 
from her feathers, and staved out despite her 
evident disappointment. 'T was her only chance 
to cuddle them, for such canny youngsters would 
soon be independent of their parents ! Quickly 
the little one struggled himself free — no "apron- 
strings" for him! and gayly he zigzagged through 
the grass, his patient progenitor rising to follow. 
In "no time" he became a successful traveler, 
though a reckless one, and it was greatly amus- 
ing to follow him about and see him reel from 
stone to stone without the vaguest idea of where 
he was going, leading his mother by the weakest 
"Pee-ee-eep !" you can imagine ! only a mother's 
quick ear could have caught it! 

The moment he unwarily stopped in the grass 
that moment she sat upon him, literally, appearing 
much aggrieved when he would promptly sally 
forth. His little bare, green legs might have been 
covered with snake-skin, so close was the re- 
semblance. I pick him from the grass and carry 
him, protesting, back home. The one left in the 
nest is not strong. He manages to walk out a 
step or two, but falls weakly. On my hand he 

157 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

lies quietly as I examine his dress. The diminu- 
tive wings are barely an inch long, so different 
from a song-bird's wing. Nature only supplies 
a need as it becomes necessary, and he is, above 
all, a walking bird. His downy feathers are 
thick, thick, the upper ones mottled, and his 
breast is snowy white. One black ring about 
his throat is strongly marked, the second collar 
of black, reaching from shoulder to shoulder, will 
grow with his growth. The tails of both birds 
are, as yet, but little half-inch "curly-q's" of 
three tiny feathers — quite awry! but, when older, 
they will be long and scalloped out in "points" 
like a woodpecker's — but not stiff like the tails of 
those birds. As I hold the young one on my hand 
the mother walks alertly from the shelter of the 
grasses, to her side of the nest, bobbing and 
bowing consent to my investigation. Perhaps she 
thinks it only fair I should learn a little of those 
birdlings on whose coming I so patiently waited. 
When I place the bird in the nest she makes no 
attempt to coax it to walk, but only looks at it 
as if marveling at its stillness. Either home seems 
a good place to the errant one, or pure luck sends 
him back to be unwillingly cuddled, to push out 
from his "Mammy's" white breast his little brown 
head, that, white-striped, shows the scholarly 
look of a professor in spectacles. 

The next day I find him skipping among the 

158 



DAYS WITH A MOTHER-BIRD 

stones in liveliest fashion, and, wonder of won- 
ders, he runs into the narrow stream at sight of 
me, out of his depth his swimming powers come 
in play and float him safely to the other shore. 
Swimming he was, however, or the current would 
have carried him down stream. The nest I search 
for the weak one. He is not there — but lies dead 
on the grass. As I pick him up the mother runs 
near, looks at him on my hand, shows no concern 
whatever, and soon turns away. On the follow- 
ing day the trick of misleading me is played with 
vigor. No young one is to be seen about, but 
both birds fly to greet me as I come through the 
meadow, and, once on their side of the fence, 
they separate and run swiftly over the ground, 
east and west. Far, far, up the creek — and I 
foolishly stumble after the female, crossing on 
stones the wide, shallow brook she so lightly 
skims through. Through fragrant banks of mint 
she leads me, and I hesitate, half-doubting, the 
other half provoked, then turn to watch the male 
just disappearing in the distance around a curve 
of the bank. How silly I have been to follow! 
Midway between the two I shall probably find 
their treasure. So it is, just midway, and run- 
ning along the sand, skipping over stones much 
more rapidly than I can. Scarcely had I turned, 
however, when the mother decided the "game 
was up," and screaming a loud signal, she flew 
11 159 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

after me, and the male answered her call at once. 
Again the little fellow strikes the water, and like 
a puff of down, swims boldly across. Such en- 
terprise for one new-born! The friend I have 
to-day brought with me to see the wonder of a 
baby killdeer gazes in envious admiration as he 
comes to shore on the other side, and with short, 
rapid steps strides away. "O !" she exclaims, "if 
my babies could do that at three days !" 

The killdeer-mother shows alarm at the pres- 
ence of a stranger, but when the youngster wades 
the brook to hide among the rushes near me, she 
comes in my direction very willingly when she 
hears my voice. As yet the baby only needs his 
legs, but, one week later, after deluding me into 
a long chase on foot, and I have all but caught 
him, lo, he lifts himself into the air and flies ! 
Such a mite of a bird to be running about I have 
never seen ! He tumbles up and down among the 
rocks in most careless fashion, always landing 
on his feet, and without hesitation when I "cor- 
nered" him, ere flying days, would embark on 
the ripples like a good old sailor. 

Three weeks are required to hatch the young 
ones, so, probably, the nest held the eggs on the 
eighth of June, and I did not see them until the 
fifteenth. As yet, August sixteenth, the hillsides 
along the creek echo to the sound of killdeer calls. 
Whether the birds lay twice in a summer I must 
1 60 



DAYS WITH A MOTHER-BIRD 

wait to discover until next June. Though their 
name is derived from their melancholy call- 
notes, "Kill-dee," "Kill-dee," "Kill-dee!" not once 
did I hear these sounds during my study of the 
birds. They uttered no note but the one, "Pee- 
ee-eep," in question, in anger, in alarm, in friendly 
greeting. In the fall I have often seen them in 
crowds along the shores of ponds, and then, when 
they raised themselves and flew into the fields, 
their calls of "Kill-dee !" were very plain. 



161 



The Flitting of the Wrens 

They began a nest under the eaves of the front 
gallery on June 5th. Cunningly chosen was the 
site — in the southwest corner. Blew the winds 
from the north, only more firmly would it pinion 
the structure against the low cornice; from the 
west no gale might strike it, and on the east it 
was house-protected — that little home. Do I say 
"little?" 

The birds have all just flown, and, having 
taken it from its two months' resting place, my 
tape-measure records its dimensions. In circum- 
ference at the bottom, just thirty-nine inches ; the 
height is but nine inches ; it tapers slightly toward 
the top, where, placed a trifle to one side, like a 
toppled crater of an extinct miniature volcano, 
is the cradle where lay the tiny mottled eggs. 
The depth of this cradle is exactly two and one- 
half inches ; also, two and one-half inches across 
the top. Why should such a mite of a real nest 
require so much outside structure? 

Tiny green boxes under the Judge's eaves ac- 
commodate his wrens. "Sunnyside" has none, but 
in lieu of them the wrens heretofore have utilized 
various sections of rusty stove-pipe stuck aloft 
162 



THE FLITTING OF THE WRENS 

in the carriage house, or, slipping through various 
"knot-holes," made securest of nests behind the 
weather-boarding. Thus, when my wren, out of 
pure sociability, elected to make an "open-air" 
home just above my hammock, she met welcome. 

The foundation was laid on a Saturday. 
"Ophelia" — (of tragic fame, but queen of do- 
mestic science in my kitchen as a "rest-off" from 
her "pickaninny" winter school) — Ophelia wished 
to scrub the porch, and her broom "swished" 
among the building material laid low in a corner 
from which the wrens daintily made selection. 
Ophelia scolded, the wrens reasoned, and, even- 
tually, my teacher-maid yielded to their chidings. 
The twigs I brought (wishing to help) were 
rejected, but my bounty was carefully inspected 
for strings. Feathers, I then recalled, were al- 
ways found in a wren's nest, and I secured a 
beautiful bunch from the Plymouth Rocks. 
Feathers, indeed ! How scornfully she tossed 
them over, flinging them aside, and flying aloft 
with some especially crooked stick ! Did n't she 
know her own mind, forsooth? 

Bits of white cotton, yes, stuck here and there 
about the base on the extreme outside among 
crinkly, brown mosses and golden yellow oat- 
straws. White cotton cord — good ! it served to 
tie up a bundle of knotty twigs, zigzagged up 
the side and hanging in a two-yard length below 
163 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

the nest made the fingers itch to pull, and see what 
would happen. 

June 14th the nest was completed — long 
a-building, was it not ? Over every stick that went 
into it the birds seemed to hold council of war. 
'T was curiously fashioned. At the very bottom 
the twigs were laid in a wide circle, round and 
round and round. As the bulky thing grew the 
shape changed gradually into a square, until at 
the top it had assumed the exact form of a log 
cabin, "criss-crossed" at the corners just as the 
logs are laid, only in this case roughly, unevenly. 
The lining was of narrow strips of grapevine 
bark. The little circular opening at the top is 
funny to look at. Here the feathers came into 
play, and stood high up around the edge, white, 
black, brown, fluffy, and soft as a feather boa. 
It is decorative in the extreme — even if acci- 
dental. But she was not a tidy mother — the 
nest was not left cleanly, as most bird nests are, 
for the lower part swarmed with "mites." 

Such a lengthy period of householding as now 
set in for the family I have never before known 
in bird-life. From the time of completion until 
the first egg was deposited in the nest elapsed 
just one month, though during the entire period 
all birds of the air were notified that this was 
exclusive property. Sparrows (meddlers al- 
ways), thrushes, even a "drumming" young 
164 



THE FLITTING OF THE WRENS 

woodpecker, were routed in fine haste by these 
gallant little "cup defenders" — for that 's just 
what the nest proper looked like, a small, brown 
cup. 

July ioth saw the first spotted tgg, hardly 
larger than a "hummer's," lying in the nest. Fol- 
lowed this an tgg each day, until five crowded 
together there. 

On the 25th day of July the first bird was 
hatched, two more on the 26th, two on the 27th, 
and on the 5th of August the birds came out of 
the nest, making hazardous wing-way among 
the trees. Then was jubilation and song in- 
creased, and a wren is the most persistent opti- 
mist in all the world! Storm, or wind, or rain 
pelting the roof like pebbles, above the diapason 
could be ever heard the short melody of the wren. 
He (or she) would sit on the wildly swaying, 
empty hammock strings and sing, sing! Rain- 
drenched her feathers, but, as I watched her 
through the window, she would cock up an eye 
at me. "Come out ! Everything 's all right !" 
Sing, sing, sing! Was I in the hammock, it was 
the same on sunshiny days. The little birds came 
titling along the edges, alighted on my sleeve, 
even twittered at me, and tried to understand 
the sounds I essayed by way of bird conversation, 
and, altogether, looked upon me as one who 
understood. 

i6 S 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

I regret to say my own prying started the 
migration. I climbed up to peer into the nest. 
A bright, bright eye shone on me out of the 
gloom. I stared at it, it stared at me, then I 
poked a finger in on something soft, and two wee, 
soft things slipped out under my hand like a flash 
of light. "Six ways for Sunday" that mother 
ran, or flew rather, for close on the heels of the 
first two followed the last three, landing in lilac 
bushes, and in the grass, on the porch floor, and 
clutching wildly on the bark of the trees, where 
they showed almost the agility of the woodpecker 
in climbing up. 

"Ophelia" captured one. It showed no fear, 
cuddling into the hollow of her warm, brown hand 
as snugly as under its mother's breast. Such 
an absurd morsel of a bird! — with a tail ridicu- 
lously short — half an inch, maybe, — and "perked" 
at an insolent angle ! 

How she chirped and called and scolded those 
young ones into safety ! And how she darted 
to my hammock ropes when, in aimless flutter- 
ing, one baby plumped himself into my lap! But 
they were tremendous flyers for young ones, and 
more fully feathered out than any young birds 
I have seen at leaving the nest. It was quite a 
surprise to see them so fully dressed. I surmise 
they had been lazy. One youngster we put back 
into the nest to see what would happen. He 
166 



THE FLITTING OF THE WRENS 

stayed in just one second, then hopped up on to 
the edge and gazed around. Did n't quite like it, 
and dropped suddenly out of sight into the depths 
of his home. Up and out and back again, oc- 
casionally cheeping answer to the peremptory 
demands of his mother from the shadowy um- 
brella tree: "O, I can't come! I'm too little!'' 
dropping back. Eventually she got him away — 
but it took discipline ! 

Just before I reduced the nest to ashes the 
mother flew up as if to be sure none of her family 
were going to make a holocaust. It lay on a 
chair, and the bird hopped from rung to rung, 
then up onto the back of the chair, peered up at 
the vacant niche, then back to the nest, hopped 
down onto it, into it, satisfied herself that none of 
her brood was there, and darted gayly away. 

Out in the hayfield a "bob-white" hovers — 
a nest full of eggs in the hay. Shy, is she ? Not 
a bit of it. You who have only seen a quail 
scurry across the dusty road can not understand 
the delight of having a whole flock come trailing 
up through the deep snow three times a day for 
meals. East winter two parent birds and six 
obedient children fed always in the dooryard 
with chickens, and having partaken of the col- 
lation they stepped gravely back to the shelter 
of the woods. 

Heredity shows in the case of the bird now 
167 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

nesting, for she allows the children to lift her 
from the nest, stroke her gently, and put her on 
again, or she sits quite patiently on her eggs 
while one smooths down her shining feathers. 

The cat-bird's eggs, in her well-concealed nest 
amid the blackberry bushes, have undergone a 
curious transformation. What began it, what 
first pricked the tiny globes with innumerable 
punctures, I do not know ; but an opening of 
shells shows them to be full, not of bird life, 
but of huge black ants, that have undoubtedly 
devoured the contents. 



168 



In a Silken Cradle 

"Spin, spin, Mergaton, spin! 
Gigoton, Mergaton, spin!" 

'T was a sunny afternoon in August when my 
story began, and, as usual when one is not look- 
ing for a story, it dropped into my lap. It was 
hot, that midsummer day ; the "chur-v — ing" of 
the locusts testified to it, and nothing was astir 
save nut-hatches browsing up and down the tree- 
trunks, and sparrows sparring for place in the 
white dust of the road. 

Suddenly a bird flew down onto the flagstones 
beneath the elm, straightened himself up, and 
stared at some object almost beneath his feet. 
Back to the tree he flew, then down again to the 
pavement, prepared to give battle to a force so 
swiftly covering the distance that intervened be- 
tween it and the elm-tree. 

I ran to look. The besieger was a huge green 
worm ! Quite an appetizer, indeed, for any bird's 
supper! What great luck! And at it the bird 
made a swift dash. But capture was not so easy 
as it looked. The worm had a word to say about 
169 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

it, for, swift as light, up came the flat-faced green 
head, two tiny pin-point eyes glistening like 
rubies, and the small jaws snapped together with 
a click. The bird backed away. Discretion is a 
large part of true valor. Following came the 
worm. Enraged, the bird made fiercer assault, but 
click, click, click went the jaws with a savage 
snap, and up came the green head, threatening, as 
before. Astonished, maddened, the bird flew at the 
worm, striking boldly, but not hitting, for the 
worm swiftly and deftly turned in self-protec- 
tion, snapping viciously, until the bird gave up 
the attack and, with a spiteful note, flew among 
the branches. 

With incredible speed the worm hastened to 
the foot of the elm and rapidly ascended. Time 
now, was it, for us to interfere, and we gently 
presented to the victor a small branch of laurel, 
upon which it. clambered, to be brought into the 
house for closer inspection. 

The worm was as thick as my middle finger, 
and four inches in length. As it clung with its 
soft, clumsy feet, flat and blunt, like — well, like 
the feet of an elephant, really — we offered it, for 
supper, a smaller bunch of osage leaves. Two 
long tushes hung over the lower lip, and at the 
touch of some foreign substance, "snap !" went 
the jaws as the worm bit savagely at it. How 
enraged it was ! Not only at the impertinence of 
170 



IN A SILKEN CRADLE 

our handling it, but also because we were inter- 
rupting its private business. That it had some- 
thing on hand was evinced by the eager hurry 
with which it was traveling when the bird first 
saw it. That this business brooked no delay we 
discovered later, as you shall see. The worm 
knew precisely what it wanted, where and when 
and how, but here came two stupid bipeds — it was 
a triple quadruped at the very least — and inter- 
rupted all its plans ! Such a beautiful worm, 
too ! The long, corrugated body of a delicate, 
translucent apple-green, and as flexible as India- 
rubber. Its face, small and disc-shaped, was a 
pale brown, and as we held the creature it turned 
and twisted and snapped its jaws as if it would 
say: 

"O, hurry and be done ! I 've no time to 
spare." 

So we procured a small pasteboard box and, 
making holes in it, imprisoned the insect. Of 
course it must be fed until the spinning of the 
cocoon began. This, we concluded, would be 
delayed at least a month. As we tendered the 
worm some fresh leaves, it took two vigorous 
bites out of the edge of one of them in a half- 
starved way, and we left it to its supper. In about 
an hour we opened the box, and, finding the worm 
apparently busy gnawing, we attempted to re- 
move the first leaves and put in others, but on 
171 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

lifting them we found almost invisible filaments 
attached to them and to the box. The weaver 
had begun to spin ! So we gently laid the twig 
back in the box and watched its further utiliza- 
tion for a loom. To the lid the worm seemed 
determined to attach itself. Try as we might, 
push it back to the bottom as we did again and 
yet again — for we wished to remove the lid to 
watch the worker — patiently the great clumsy 
creature climbed repeatedly to the lid and began 
anew its operations. The first strands it wove 
were difficult to see, so fine were they, but that 
something was holding the leaves into place was 
proven by their suspension. We then turned 
the box upside down, cut out the bottom, and set 
ourselves to watch operations, with the box turned 
sidewise. In among the osage leaves the worm 
had curled its heavy length, then, lifting that 
flat brown face, it climbed again to the edges 
of the box, moved its mouth delicately over an 
infinitesimal space, back and forth as a butterfly 
moves its "feelers." Slowly drawing back its 
head with the all but invisible silver thread issuing 
from the spinnarets, just below the mouth, it 
grasped the leaf and softly mouthed it, then 
reached up two tiny claws and clinched the fila- 
ment securely to the edge of the leaf, as we might 
press down a bit of wax with our finger tips. 
Back then to the box lid, the shining thread reel- 
172 



IN A SILKEN CRADLE 

ing out as from a spindle, and again it was fas- 
tened to the lid. In the first little web that was 
woven, the insect quickly hung its hind feet, or 
rather the hooks on the feet that were like bird 
claws, thus suspending a part of the body and 
showing the strength of the woof. It then wove 
loops and girths, fastening them alternately to 
the leaves on which it was climbing, and to the 
box, the side, and the lid. Back and forth it 
moved, slowly and with precision, making no 
mistakes, and presenting a spectacle of such mar- 
velous fascination that sleep was impossible, and 
all night we watched the growth of the wondrous 
cradle. Silently, ceaselessly, never stopping even 
though the electric light over the dresser flashed 
onto it continuously; the thin haze of a shim- 
mering web growing, growing, and folding in the 
artist more and more closely. It was not fast 
work, however ; it was very slow, and as, with 
head propped on my hands, I watched from hour 
to hour, the large body seemed to diminish in 
size, as probably it really did, for from being a 
closely packed living box of silk, it came at last 
to be but the germ of what it once was. By 
early morning an entire network had enclosed 
the body, and by noon this network had been 
overlaid, as the artist still worked, with gauzy, 
semi-transparent wrappings through which could 
be faintly seen the now closely-confined architect. 

173 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

It was then very hard for the inhabitant to turn 
himself about, but the busy mouth moved back 
and forth, drawing after it silken thread and 
silken thread, endlessly, tirelessly, and by the next 
day all movement had ceased so far as could be 
seen. 

Ordinarily, the next thing on the program for 
the inhabitant of our silken cradle is to cast aside 
its caterpillar skin and enter into the pupa stage 
of existence, and this is generally done within 
twenty-four hours after the cocoon is finished. 
If this was the case with our giant worm, then 
the next stage was long delayed, for after the 
pupa stage is reached, usually in a few weeks 
emerges the butterfly, or moth. Whether this 
transformation immediately occurred or not we 
shall never know, but if such was the case, then 
a very sleepy butterfly baby swung in its cradle 
many months longer than need be. 

"In about two months," said the scientist, "it 
will emerge." Said my maid : "That won' nevah 
come out 'til de springtime. We live on the 
fa'm whah I was rais' an we of'en get 'em by de 
run, we chil'ren. The skin gets hahd, so hahd 
you cain' break it 'less wi' a hatchet. Then it 
get thinnah and thinnah 'til you can see 'im in 
thah, an' then he comes out !" 

This was in August. October passed, No- 
vember, December. 

174 



IN A SILKEN CRADLE 

Daily we watched the cocoon, almost hourly 
listened for stirrings of life, and on New Year's 
morning we were rewarded. Happy augury on 
the dawning of another year, when, beneath the 
satin-fine coverlet, velvet wings begin to unfold 
with the thrill of renewed life. Was it by this 
time a butterfly, our sleeper in the swinging 
cradle? Had it reached the last stage of exist- 
ence? If so, it was a very sluggard, for, after 
stirring at intervals during twenty-four hours, 
and keeping us on a sharp lookout for the first 
premonitory opening of the cocoon, the whirring 
noise ceased, and presumably the householder 
settled down for a longer nap. 

The noise it had made was a curious one. A 
busy "whirring" as of a small soft body turning 
about and about with lightning rapidity, as a 
squirrel swiftly treads the wheel in his cage. 
Each day we lifted the box to our ears many 
times, listening for a second awakening, but no 
sound came to us. January gave place to Feb- 
ruary, stingingly cold, but we kept the web-like 
cradle in the sunny exposure of a south window 
in a warm room, hoping to rouse its occupant into 
life. March succeeded February, April passed, 
and we felt sure our butterfly had died, our bio- 
logical friend declaring that in all probability it 
would never emerge. " 'T was dead, dead, dead !" 
May came along, and white butterflies drifted 

12 175 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

above the grass, and still our tenant tarried in 
deepest slumber. In the early morning hours of 
the twentieth day of May the whirring again com- 
menced, not so loud or swift as at first, more 
muffled and more like straining or stretching. In 
a few minutes a tiny, tiny movement became ap- 
parent at the smaller end of the cocoon, and 
slowly, slowly the strands of the web gave way, 
as layer after layer parted to the determined 
pushing of the dweller within, and presently 
through a hole, into which I afterwards found 
I could not insert the tip of my little finger, out 
crawled a small, wet-looking body, dragging it- 
self exhaustedly and pausing often to rest ere 
it was quite free from the cocoon. Then, finding 
at last no impediment, it lay quietly for perhaps 
half an hour, when it began unfolding a pair 
of wings — wings that were as creased and crum- 
pled as tissue paper crushed in the hand, and 
soft and wet. The creature seemed to grow 
and expand before our eyes, a miracle in its resur- 
rection, as with extreme leisureliness it daintily 
and languidly unclosed to our sight its beautiful 
wings, that grew, and grew. Opening and shut- 
ting, folding and unfolding, for hours the insect 
kept its wings in motion, as if no higher bliss 
could be asked than this — life, and motion, and 
flooding sunlight — and the wrinkles smoothed out 
176 



IN A SILKEN CRADLE 

as if by magic as the body pumped a fluid into 
their network of tiny tubes. 

The grand climax was reached after nine full 
months of preparation, and our busy insect of a 
long ago August day lay before us — a jewel in 
coloring. But the big green worm so closely 
packed with silk for the weaving of its tent 
curtains was scarcely less beautiful and marvelous 
than the splendid creature that lay basking in the 
golden light. Its body was two inches and a half 
in length and thick as my middle finger, of a 
delicate tan color, and soft and furry. To manu- 
facture a cloth of that beauty and texture would 
be equivalent to the finding of a gold mine ! The 
wings, which measured from tip to tip, out- 
stretched and fully grown, a little over seven 
inches, were gorgeous in coloring — a rich warm 
cream color shading into tan and red browns. On 
the smaller wings was a large dice-shaped spot, 
the sides of deep black, the top of the cube being 
an exquisite shade of pale blue. On the larger or 
front wings was an octagon-shaped spot, trans- 
parent like the thinnest mica. The entire wing 
felt to the touch like softest feathers, and, under 
a microscope, looked like them. 

Some hours after its emergence the moth 
made great efforts to fly, but the wings were not 
yet strong enough, and it only succeeded in flut- 

V7 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

tering about in the box, thumping its heavy body 
up and down. On the second day after its emer- 
gence the moth managed to flutter and fumble 
itself out of the box to the window-seat, but it 
would eat nothing, sugar water and honey tempt- 
ing it not at all. 

Small wonder! The Attacns cecropia hasn't 
any mouth ! But / did n't know it — not then. 
They have in lieu of this a keen sense of smell, 
and, guided thus, at night they sally forth seeking 
a mate — soon perishing, as they, of course, take 
no nourishment. 

Our insect paused so long on the window- 
seat, we concluded it must be dazed, or in a state 
of profound meditation as to the sudden change 
that had overtaken it. On the third day it could 
not yet carry into the air its heavy body, and as 
it fluttered blindly against the window-pane, we 
tossed it to the grass outside, where it fell help- 
lessly. On the grape-vine we next perched it, 
and, like a clumsy child, it fell to the ground. 
Then, in impatience at its stupidity or laziness 
(but what could one expect after nine months 
of uninterrupted sleep?), my farmer girl seized it 
by the wings and tossed it boldly high into the 
air, where, as by a miracle, the wings spread 
themselves and, fluttering, dipping, soaring, away 
sailed this joyous new-born creature over the 
house-top, through the elm branches, to lose itself 

i 7 8 



IN A SILKEN CRADLE 

from sight far away in the campus, without a 
pause or rest. 

The silken tent, at first opaque in its silvery 
sheen, often becomes transparent towards the end 
of the term of confinement for its occupant, but, 
though the one in question became perceptibly 
thinner, it was not sufficiently so as to allow 
our seeing the insect ere it emerged. On tearing 
apart the cocoon after the departure of its maker, 
we found the brown shell it had left behind. This 
resembled a mummy skin, being dark brown in 
color and so delicate of texture as to crumble on 
being touched, but showed all the rings and 
markings of the body it had once encased. 

The cocoon of this Attacus cecropia moth is of 
two parts, a loosely wrinkled outer covering and 
well-shaped and dense inner pod with the finest 
of floss silk separating the two. At both ends 
it is loosely woven, that the moth may easily es- 
cape. The cecropia is our largest native silk- 
spinning insect, and holds its place among the 
giant lepidoptera of the world. Silk has been 
made from the ravelings of this cocoon, and for 
one who will invent an easy and inexpensive way 
of unraveling this mystery of weaving there is a 
fortune in prospect. Utilized in the manufacture 
of silk, this material would be placed within easy 
reach of every one, for it would be as cheap as 
cotton. 

179 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

It is astonishing how few children have seen 
this marvel of cocoon-making. In silk-worms, 
yes, but to select or find a worm for themselves 
from the big outdoor world, and watch every pro- 
cess from the nibbling of the green osage leaves to 
its ultimate end as moth or butterfly, is, I find, 
almost a thing unheard of. 

At Wood's Hole, this summer, I met on the 
beach-road near the "Buzzard Bay" shore a trav- 
eler similar to the one of which I have told you. 
He was in a tremendous hurry, apparently, but 
I intercepted him, and with careful coaxing 
brought him home to the children, on a blue- 
berry branch, turning it from end to end as the 
nimble fellow too closely approached my shaky 
fingers — for I 've a mighty fear of all creeping 
things ! 

We encased this big, beautiful green worm 
in mosquito netting, adjuring him to "Spin! spin! 
spin !" But spin he did not, spin he would not, 
though it was September and high time. He 
spent frivolous days in wriggling through the 
meshes of his net, to be found, finally, after long 
search, performing acrobatic feats by hanging to 
the mantle. Returned, forcibly, to his cage, he 
went straight to work to do it all over again ! 

We kept him two weeks and a few days, sup- 
plying him with fresh leaves, but he grew so 
180 



IN A SILKEN CRADLE 

weak and thin from homesickness, or continual 
exercise, that we turned him loose out of doors, 
in the salty grass, to hang himself in a nest of 
his own selection on any desirable branch, and 
wished him good luck for the winter ! 



181 



A Lichened Nest 

"And the humming-bird that hung 
Like a jewel up among 

The tilted honeysuckle horns." 

He; who finds a ruby-throated humming-bird's 
nest has sharp eyes, but he who discovers this 
tiny creature making her first arrangements for 
a home may truly thank his lucky stars. Often 
we come upon this eminently sociable and easily 
tamed bird in woody places far from men's habi- 
tation, drawn thither by hillsides of wild blossoms. 
But hereabouts he seems to prefer our old-fash- 
ioned gardens. 

In a field of corn, run riot with high-reach- 
ing morning-glory blossoms, you may find at 
early morning many humming birds dipping into 
the pink and purple magnificence of the freshly 
opened flowers or in a fence-corner where the 
Virginia creeper rears its flaring yellow trumpets, 
and wherever the "golden candlesticks" of the 
narcissus spread wide their petals to the sun. 
In all these choice honey-holders the humming- 
bird is sure of nectarine delights, and here he 
182 



A LICHENED NEST 

hangs on quivering wing, greedily extracting the 
last drop. Then away. But where away is quite 
"another story." 

In April, if it be warm, and surely in the first 
May days, the first moment, in fact, that there 
is any promise of gay blossoms and scarlet ge- 
raniums are their especial delight, darting into 
the garden come these gauzy-winged, ruby- 
throated birds. During successive seasons a pair 
of them (or their descendants) nested in the 
honeysuckle at the end of our veranda, but only 
once were we fortunate enough to see the female 
as she built. The female, a little gray-green bit 
of a bird, was sole architect, but though she did 
all the work, she was generous enough to allow 
her spouse a voice in the matter of its location. 

In the gray dawn of a spring morning we were 
wakened from a sound nap by a succession of 
queer little squeaking noises coming apparently 
from just outside the window. Bird or mouse 
it must be, with the preference given to the latter, 
and creeping noiselessly to the window, we looked 
out, to see perched near the top of the thick vines 
two humming-birds. In and out beneath the 
leaves and under the coral flowers went the fe- 
male, followed closely by the ruby-throat. The 
pair fluttered in and out for several minutes be- 
fore the tiny green housewife darted off for ma- 
terial, the male bird remaining perched on a 

183 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

branch in contemplation of the advantages of the 
situation. He looked up and around, peering into 
crannies of the woodwork over which the honey- 
suckle climbed, and, certain cobweb curtains 
thickly draped about the tops of the white pillars, 
must have rilled his small heart with delight. 
Spiders close at hand to ensnare bugs for the 
delectation of himself and family was luck in- 
deed. Truly they had well chosen ! In a short 
time the female returned, carrying in her long, 
needle-like bill a small collection of silky threads, 
dandelion down, possibly; mayhap, soft wrap- 
pings of the hairy ferns just uncurling them- 
selves, or delicate shreds of the inner bark of 
decaying trees. These she cunningly placed at 
the exact intersection of several branches, not 
hanging her nest, but laying the material care- 
fully across the twigs, and with her tiny feet dis- 
posing of it quite to her satisfaction. The second 
time she went for building material her spouse 
followed, but she returned unattended by him, 
and I regret to say he did not, to our knowledge, 
put in an appearance again until the nest was 
finished and occupied. How our little neighbor 
did work at her home, and how unsuspectingly! 
Never dreamed she that behind green blinds were 
interested eyes keeping watch of her movements. 
Her first material was all of hair and down and 
soft, silky stuff, which she wove deftly in and 
184 



A LICHENED NEST 

out with her long bill, shaping it gradually with 
her small, downy breast, which she pressed into 
it again and again, forming a thimble-shaped cup. 
All day she worked, and day after day, coming 
and going with mouthful after mouthful of house- 
stuff, only occasionally taking time for refresh- 
ment among the blossoms. When the nest was 
high enough and round enough for her satisfac- 
tion, my little lady began to put on the finishing 
touches by bringing tiny pieces of gray-green 
lichen that, in the flickering green-leaf shadows, 
soon rendered the nest almost indistinguishable. 
Carrying the pieces in her beak, she would place 
them against the side of the nest firmly and se- 
curely as she hung in mid-air, poised on her tiny, 
vibrating wings; then she would alight on a 
branch close to the nest and inspect her work, 
evidently going in for outside effect as much as 
for utility. It was a marvel how she carried her 
stuff in and out in such safety and with such 
accuracy. Her motions were so swift, so seem- 
ingly irresponsible, but she made no mistakes, 
not at any time striking against the trellis in 
place of through it, or even mistaking the precise 
location of the nest. We greatly longed to help 
her with nest material, and during one of her 
absences we hung near the nest fine, soft ravelings 
and flossy, silken threads, that the tiny house- 

185 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

builder no sooner saw than she utilized for a 
lining to the nest already quite complete. 

Shortly two tiny, white eggs appeared in the 
nest — eggs oval in shape and not larger than 
beans; and the careful little mother never left 
them long at a time, the ruby-throated father 
really doing a little of his share in raising a 
family, by assiduously feeding his spouse during 
the time of incubation. Nearly three weeks 
passed away, and then on a certain morning we 
noted unusual symptoms of solicitude on the part 
of the male bird, such frequent comings to the 
edge of the nest, such excited squeaks, such airs 
of fussy importance, that we felt a crisis had ar- 
rived in the family — the young birds must have 
broken the shell. True enough, though for a 
day we were not able to get a glimpse of them, 
but the second day we peeped into the nest while 
the mother was away. 

Tiny, tiny things they were, scarcely larger 
than a honey-bee, but with an extraordinary bill, 
a bill that was out of all proportion to their 
length. Carefully the mother bird nursed her 
youngsters, staying as closely at home as she 
could, but the father, having finally wearied of 
parental duties, left the providing to her, so she 
was obliged to go abroad pretty frequently. The 
tiny ones she fed as the woodpeckers fed their 
young, bv regurgitation, and also by ramming her 
186 



A LICHENED NEST 

bill down the throats of the youngsters until it 
seemed as if it must impale them. The father's 
duties, however, had not been overpowering, for 
he (and she, too) had not hesitated to help them- 
selves to the harvest of flies and wasps gathered 
by Madame Arachne. What matter if it required 
a little forethought and consideration as to the 
way in which this harvest must be reached? It 
saved wing-weariness, and was eminently accept- 
able. Many times the largest spiders resented 
this wholesale appropriation of eatables, and as 
the touch of the humming-bird's bill in the en- 
circling gossamer threads set them trembling to 
the center of the web, the owner thereof rose in 
wrath and scrambled over the surface in fierce 
pursuit. But the hummers were sufficiently wary 
to confine their depradations to the outskirts of 
the demesne, darting quickly away before the 
vengeful insect. 

The young "hummers," when flying-day ar- 
rived, launched themselves into the air like old 
stagers, though they followed their mother from 
flower to flower, learning from her how to feed, 
and perched themselves, waiting, on the grape- 
vine. As she probed the trumpet flowers for 
honey, they, waiting, truly resembled nothing so 
much as big bumble-bees. 

The little family in time grew quite tame, 
often flying into the windows, attracted by a 

i8 7 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

bowl of cut-flowers, even coming to perch on our 
fingers sometimes if tempted by a blossom. I 
have found them quite fearless if always made 
welcome. That even their judgment is not always 
infallible was shown by the following incident: 
My farmer girl was sitting under the grape-vine 
trellis one evening at sunset, and as I stood 
talking to her, a pair of "hummers" came darting 
at her shoulders, striking her sharply, and evinc- 
ing both anger and surprise when they found the 
gaudy flowers of her dress were unreal. 



188 



The Trials of a Goldfinch 

"Here in the fork the 

brown nest is seated/' 

— R. L. S. 

With a sweep and a dip and a whirl the rollick- 
ing wild canaries come among us on some rare 
April day. They surprise us invariably, even i£ 
it be as late as in May, when they drift into 
the garden like a lot of yellow leaves blown on 
the winds. They rarely appear singly, but a 
perfect colony of them come fluttering through 
the air, settling in tree branches or threading their 
ways through the mazes of the osage hedge (a 
place they particularly like), and filling the air 
with song. They are the gayest little birds im- 
aginable, careering hither and thither, seeming 
always bent on a merry-making. Their song is 
pure melody, its sweet, lisping notes much like 
the notes of a true canary, only stronger, braver, 
freer. To my ear the words of his song are much 
like those of the robin, though the goldfinch does 
not ring its changes so everlastingly. The robin 
never knows the time when he is not ready or 
189 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

willing or glad to sing. Nothing daunts him. 
Sidney Eanier tells us how it goes — 

"Five o'clock, ten o'clock, twelve, and seven; 
Nothing but robin songs heard under heaven. 

Is it fame that ye sing for and who shall be first? 
Yet each day's the same and the last is the zvorst, 

And the summer is curst with the silly outburst 
Of idiot red-breasts peeping and cheeping." 

Few of us would agree, however, with the 
last two stanzas. A robin never sings too long 
or too much, or too cherrily. Him, the gold- 
finch, echoes but as the music of a flute repeats 
the deep, bold notes of the 'cello. The robin's 
song is all of cheer, "Chee-eer, chee-eer-o, cheer- 
eer, chee-eer-up," rolling the words over and over 
deftly enough, while the goldfinch, tossing him- 
self into the air, warbles, "Chee-eer, chee-eerv 
chee-ee-eer, chee-eer," sweet, clear, insistent. 
Truly he is a bird of great happiness, and a holi- 
day-maker par excellence. Great his need also 
for a cheerful disposition, as he winters with 
us through snow and hail and ice, this dainty 
bird in black and gold attire. A bird, one would 
think, should be among the first to migrate, and 
one who would require the mildness of a South- 
ern climate to keep him alive. But he 's not 
190 



THE TRIALS OF A GOLDFINCH 

that style of a bird at all. He 's strong and 
brave and bright, and flirts among the snow- 
laden branches of the deep woods or rustles 
among the seed-laden weeds as philosophically 
as he tilts on thistle-tops in the summer or glints 
among the dandelions. All the spring and early 
summer days see him dallying, procrastinating, 
apparently doing nothing under the sun but hav- 
ing a good time. "Sowing his wild oats," one 
might think, but on the contrary, he is gathering 
them, or something akin to them, from any seed- 
bearing plant he can find. His idle ways are a 
scandal among his neighbors in the garden, who, 
after exchanging with him the compliments of 
the season, leave him entirely alone in his frolic- 
some ways, trying to set him a good example 
by their busy and important manners; for they 
are all soon at work constructing their homes. 
Who shall censure him? Who shall say which 
is the better way? Can we blame him for his 
high spirits and his joyous song celebration of 
the passing of cold weather ? He 's been all 
winter in the lonely woods, and he 's glad to see 
folks. 'T is small wonder he looks about him 
when he comes to town or country gardens in 
the fine spring days. The winter was bleak and 
long, notwithstanding our yellow bird kept a 
good heart, and blossoming trees and soft, warm 
winds send his spirits way, way up to the blue. 

13 191 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

He's an eye for beauty, has this gay gallant. 
Spring means more to him than merely mating 
and a home, and he is determined to enjoy it. 
He hesitates about taking up serious responsibil- 
ity. A goldflinch seems fully to realize the fact 
that but once may he be young, and, while in- 
dulging in countless flirtations, he takes extremely 
good care not to involve himself in a permanent 
engagement. Thus, during the months of May 
and June, this precautionary bachelor disports 
himself in the bravery of his summer clothes, 
greatly rejoicing in his freedom. The last of 
June or in July he seems suddenly to become 
aware of young birds of a different family from 
his own, and, after recovering from the surprise 
this gives him, he repents him of his dilatory 
ways, and, hastening to make love in earnest, he 
takes to himself a wife. "Blest the wooing that's 
not long a-doing." Marvel it is that the soberly 
clad lady of his choice does not yield to him 
immediately her heart, but now, coquette in her 
turn, she only bestows her favors after much 
solicitation. 

The warfare, waged as a ususal thing among 
other birds in time of mating, I have never 
noticed among these finches. Each seems to 
select his own mate and, without interfering in 
the choice of others or being interfered with, 
he proceeds to build a home. The female gold- 
192 



THE TRIALS OF A GOLDFINCH 

finch is much less brilliant in color than her mate, 
being above a somber brown, and beneath a warm 
yellow, a wise provision, for among the leaves 
the brooding mother is scarcely distinguishable. 
Reverse the colors, and note how quickly that 
bunch of yellow feathers would catch the evil 
eye of a hawk. With the end of summer goes 
the song of the goldfinch, and autumn, with her 
russet tints, drops over his head a coat of pale 
brown. Their nest in the osage hedge last sum- 
mer was a triumph for the female, for build there 
she would, and did, though it required the finesse 
of a woman ere she wheedled her spouse into 
her way of thinking. She first charmed him 
with coaxing notes, and under the thick leaves 
proceeded to show him the advantages of the 
place, while he stood on a branch above her, look- 
ing very glum and hard to be persuaded. He 
was for building in the syringa, as usual, and 
when, yielding in her turn, she followed him to 
the tree, he sidled close up to her and whispered 
and coaxed and chirruped to her with most 
earnest persuasion. She listened wisely and 
chirped back, but before quite agreeing with him 
she urged him to make just one more inspection 
of the spot she had selected, and he was lost. 
Without ado or giving him time to change his 
mind, she began building her home in the hedge, 
in which labor he quickly joined her. The nest 

193 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

was made of strippings from the inner bark of 
trees, and the hanging pieces of apple-tree bark, 
where the woodpecker had made a hole, proved 
most desirable, and the finches gleaned it well. 
A few small strings and grasses made a fair 
foundation, and some delicate ravelings of silk 
that we contributed were delightedly used for the 
interior. It was a very dainty nest, so softly lined 
with cotton and silk, and so snugly hidden low in 
the hedge. Troublous times awaited the owners, 
however, and scarcely was the first egg laid when 
a roving chickadee suddenly espied the little 
pocket, and, the bird being off her nest for a few 
short moments, in a trice he had snatched a 
mouthful of the downy stuff and carried it away. 
The sparrows, always on the watch, without an in- 
stant's hesitation followed his example, and owing 
to their pulling and tearing the nest fell apart and 
out rolled the tiny egg, breaking as it fell. Just as 
the ruin was complete back came the female, 
closely followed by her mate, and up and down, 
in and out of that hedge-row the two birds trav- 
eled, as if in hope that they had mistaken the 
location and had happened on another bird's 
nest and that their own would yet appear intact. 
The destruction of the nest was accomplished so 
quickly we had scarce time to realize what was 
afoot ere the mischief was done. But a coura- 
geous heart beat in that little yellow breast, and 
194 



THE TRIALS OF A GOLDFINCH 

the day following she was again busy with nest- 
building, and again in the hedge, a little higher 
up than before, and she was soon brooding her 
eggs. In these days there appeared in the shrub- 
bery a new bird, one with which we were quite 
unfamiliar. He seemed about the size of a robin 
and of dark-brown color. His, rather her, ac- 
tions were very irresolute. She sat quietly in the 
trees or flitted about from place to place as though 
on a tour of inspection, and finally departed as 
unostentatiously as she had come. The goldfinch 
had grown quite used to our presence by this 
time, and to our almost daily inspection of her 
nest, and when next she quietly slipped off al- 
lowing us to view her treasures we found among 
her own pearly eggs an extra egg, an egg much 
too large and much too clumsy ever to have been 
the property of the goldfinch, and a spotted egg 
at that. Even while we wondered over this 
there came to mind the strange bird. "T was 
a cowbird, the laziest, most shiftless citizen of 
birdland, and this time she had imposed the rear- 
ing of her offspring on these unsuspecting little 
songbirds. Apparently the finch had not de- 
tected the fraud, or else had resigned herself 
to circumstances, for she cuddled under her 
motherly breast all the eggs quite impartially. 
The male bird, when he took his turn to watch 
the nest while the mother went out for exercise, 

195 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

seemed at a loss to account for this curious affair. 
He would hop on the edge of the nest and go 
round and round it, looking down into it with deep 
interest, the incongruousness of its contents evi- 
dently puzzling him. But he possessed the happy 
faculty of making the best of things, and if 
his little wife, by extraordinary effort, had 
managed to bring forth an egg of gigantic dimen- 
sions it was cause not to sigh for, but to sing 
for, and right cheerily he did this. Neither 
did his spirits fail when from this curious tgg 
there issued a birdling unlike any he had ever 
seen among the goldfinches. Being larger, 
the tgg rested more snugly among the feathers 
above it, so, of course, was the earliest to hatch. 
Like a young robin, the cowbird was big and 
ungainly, and as hungry as any two robins I 
ever saw. The male bird fed it assiduously, 
and when the gaping mouth would thrust itself 
up in front of the still brooding mother, we 
wondered if she knew, and if out of the great 
charity of her mother-heart she adopted it as 
her own, or if, perchance, she concluded this was 
to be her one ugly duckling, and looked for better 
things when the other members of her nursery 
should appear. In either case she took good care 
of it, and when a day or two later, two of her own 
bantlings pecked their way into the world, she 
was no more fussily important over them than 
196 



THE TRIALS OF A GOLDFINCH 

over the stranger. Dandelions, sunflowers, and 
a variety of seed plants kept the little family 
close at home, their needs being well supplied in 
the garden alone. A nestful you may be sure 
they were — two naked, just beginning to grow 
feathers, little yellow birds, and one big frowsy- 
looking bird of brownish-yellow. The disposi- 
tion of the intruder also was not of the best, and 
created constant trouble in the otherwise happy 
family. Though quite as well cared for as his 
self-chosen brothers, to the astonishment and dis- 
approval of his foster-parents he was assertive 
and generally disagreeable. Always and ever his 
head obtruded itself first when the older birds 
brought food to the nest, and he crowded and 
fussed and squeaked to such an extent that the 
young finches found it difficult to sleep and grow 
large enough to defend themselves from his en- 
croachments, as he hustled them out of the way 
when he chose to change his position. The 
mother chided him sweetly, but was of too ami- 
able a disposition to give him his deserts. The 
male bird proved even less of a disciplinarian, 
for, despite the frowning look his black cap gives 
him, he is of character and manners most charm- 
ing. The young cowbird soon grew too large 
for its narrow quarters, and was the first to leave 
the nest by two or three days. Gladly did the 
owner of that home "speed the parting guest," 
197 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

after its departure cuddling herself down over 
her own youngsters and fluffing out her feathers 
in pure delight. The young finches were always 
amicable when we came to the nest, but the 
cowbird would stand up and draw himself back, 
opening his mouth widely and ruffling up his 
plumage like a little fighting-cock. The male 
finch took entire charge of the stranger when 
he hopped out of the nest, and fed him devotedly 
all day, no easy task either, for he was always 
hungry. When the other birds had flown from 
the nest it was extremely funny to see the great, 
overgrown baby of a cowbird following about the 
tiny yellow birds, who, standing beside him, were 
obliged to do a considerable amount of stretching 
to be able to reach up to the ever-ready mouth. 
A baby sparrow was at the same time following 
its parent about the lawn, and the cowbird not 
hesitating to take his food where he could get 
it, often intercepted himself between the two and 
received into his mouth the food intended for the 
young sparrow. It was a clear case of charity 
among the birds, and for many days the bird 
who did not belong to anybody got every time 
the "early worm." Finally the cowbird disap- 
peared from among the goldfinches, who re- 
mained happily in our garden and in the neigh- 
borhood until September. I have come across 
them but rarely in the winter — once on a country 

198 



THE TRIALS OF A GOLDFINCH 

road among a whole flock of snowbirds and when 
snow was flying; again in early February on 
the "Morning Sun" road, where we very unex- 
pectedly saw two of them busily at work hunting 
seeds among the underbrush. Probably in a cozy 
nook near by was the colony, and these two were 
advance couriers to see if, perchance, spring was 
on the way and they might prepare for a town- 
ward flitting. 



199 



Feathered Guests 

The Summer winds is sniffin' round the bloomin' 

locus'-trees, 
And the clover in the pastii/ is a big day fer the 

bees. 

—J. W. Riley. 

Owing to the fact that our visitors are dressed 
in feathers our garden parties are not cut short 
by the falling of the leaves. With mercury at 
zero and even much lower, our cordial invitations 
to breakfast, dinner, or supper find eager accept- 
ance. Blue grass and clover apparently are no 
more enticing around our doorstep than frost and 
snow, and the birds flit as gayly over the one as 
the other, for though a few of our aerial friends 
wing their way southward in migratory days 
we have company enough all Winter. 

In the summer of a "clover year" it is hard 
to find a more lovely sight than a lawn thickly 
grown with the nodding blossoms of the white 
clover, and birds of gay plumage disporting them- 
selves there among. Clover is supposed to make 
an untidy lawn, but ignorant of a "clover-year," 
200 



FEATHERED GUESTS 

we grumbled at old 'Umfry ; we said, "That old 
darkey has sown the lawn in white clover instead 
of blue-grass," but for once in a way 'Umfry was 
not to blame. 'Umfry cuts the grass (when he 
gets round to it), also in these periodic visits he 
cuts everything in sight, reaping where he has 
not sown — mignonette, sweet alyssum, woodbine 
carefully trained along the fences, bird-nests in 
the hedges, all go down under the relentless hand 
of him who considers "order heaven's first law." 
But this time 'Umfry was not responsible. Clover 
renews itself every second year. So Dame 
Nature nourishes the soil and at the same time 
causes extravagant tippling among humming 
birds and bees, especially the bees, who 

"Stutter in their buzzin' 
An' stagger as they fly." 

"A clover year!" Hills and hollows, fields 
and meadows literally swept over with snow of 
the clover bloom, or blushing rosily with the great 
pink blossoms, and dewy mornings and evenings 
full of perfume ! 

"Sweet by the roadsides, 

Sweet by the sills, 
Sweet in the meadows, 

Sweet on the hills; 
20 1 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

Sweet in its white, 

Sweet in its red, 

O, half its sweet can not be said! 

Sweet in its every living breath, 

Sweetest of all perhaps in death." 

For the long branches of the "sweet clover" will 
for many a long day perfume your linen closets. 
In shadiest places on the lawn and terrace always 
had we odd bowls and dishes and kept them filled 
with clean water, where the birds came constantly 
to drink and to bathe, though they reversed the 
order and drank after bathing. No watering- 
place habitues ever enjoyed more fully their sum- 
mer outing than these birds of all feathers, who 
spent a great part of their time in splashing. 
Eighteen and twenty different varieties of birds 
gossiped daily in our garden. Blue jays, blue- 
birds, the tufted titmouse, king birds, robins, cat- 
birds, orchard orioles, Baltimore orioles, cardinal 
birds, tanager, wrens, thrushes, sparrows, wood- 
peckers, nut-hatches, and many another. In the 
morning, by the time our breakfast was over, the 
birds were entirely through with their matins, and 
ready with sharp appetites for their first meal. 
Without waiting to be summoned, they congre- 
gated about the steps with impatient clamoring. 
Under the hedges the thrushes daintly pick their 
202 



FEATHERED GUESTS 

way and join the excited group. Down on the 
edge of the terrace in the midst of a veritable 
snow-bank of clover occasionally may be seen a 
patch of vivid and variegated coloring. A jay 
in robe of purplish blue dashed with white and 
black; cardinal birds, male and female, in coats 
of vivid scarlet and olive brown ; thrushes serene 
and dignified, gowned in russet tints, and a flam- 
ing oriole complete the group. 

The woodpecker flies down and grabs a large 
piece of bread, which he carries to the top of the 
electric-light pole across the road. Here, on the 
very top, he lays his quarry, then hanging on by 
his toes and propped by his tail, he nibbles at 
ease until all is gone. Though there may be 
many more pieces of bread where this one has 
come from, yet the sparrows seem to take an 
especial delight in following the red-head, and 
will perch in large numbers on the crosspieces 
of the pole, watching greedily for a chance to 
snatch a crumb. When the woodpecker flies 
down for more food the sparrows hop on the 
top of the pole and clean up the remnants of 
the feast as quickly as may be. When he returns 
they retire discreetly to the wires and enviously 
watch his repast. When all the bread has disap- 
peared from the ground the woodpecker returns 
again to the top of the pole and anxiously ex- 
203 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

amines it, if, perchance, any tid-bit has been over- 
looked. He hates the sparrows, and when his 
shyness prevents his coming down immediately 
at feeding-time, he hangs on the tree and scolds 
viciously at them, for they are ever on hand to 
eat, and he also snatches their bread from them 
again and again. In the side of the elm the red- 
headed woodpeckers made a home this year, and 
as soon as their young ones could fly they brought 
them to our lawn for supplies. The little fellows 
were too unsophisticated to know that they ought 
to hold us in mortal fear, and they came so close 
as almost to take food from our hands. They 
came swinging down most awkwardly onto the 
grass at our feet, and after grabbing a piece of 
bread and swallowing it, would straighten up, 
and, giving themselves an air of bravado, look 
us directly in the eye, as if they wanted to say, 
"My ! was n't that a big fly for me ?" Then in 
place of eating more, they would sit and stare at 
us, as if they meant us to understand, "You 
folks are quite as funny to us as we are to you." 
The heads of these young ones were dark 
gray, sleek, and shining. No glint of scarlet color 
showed in promise of the satin red cap they 
would don later, but after a few weeks a sheen- 
like red bronze gradually became apparent, as 
their heads turned and twisted in the sunlight. 
The young ones were much more confiding than 
204 



FEATHERED GUESTS 

the old birds, and were easily taken up in the 
hand. 

It is certainly astonishing how quickly the 
young birds of every species follow in the foot- 
steps — or wing-ways, we might say — of their el- 
ders. Hardly are they fledged and clumsily flying 
than by example and by precept, if we may judge 
from the constant chatter, the babies are taught 
to do exactly as the parents, and come to porch 
and window-sill for food. 

With all those different wings imagine the 
coloring in mid-winter the snow sparkling like 
diamonds, and against it the vivid scarlet of the 
cardinal, the shining, grayish bronze of his mate, 
her wings tipped with scarlet, scarlet crest and 
tail, her throat greenish-yellow, and beside her 
as an offset of color the purple-blue of the jays 
and the russet-browns of the sparrows. The fe- 
male cardinal has a coat that takes often a shin- 
ing olive-green ; especially among leaf shadows, 
and I have often been deceived into thinking the 
cardinal male had picked up a new friend until 
she dashed out into the sunshine, and against all 
authority I still assert she looked a pure green 
with yellow breast, and under her wings also 
yellow, but her crest, her dark neck, and her 
brilliant wing-tips betrayed her as she coquetted 
among the vines. 

We had only to open the door and call in 

205 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

those cold, snowy days, and the dashing cardinal 
would come in the most friendly way and take the 
bread almost from our hands. 

But to return to summer and summer baths. 
Let me tell you when bathing proclivities are in 
question, the catbird surpasses all others among 
the birds. Our winter birds, too, though not 
caring for baths, are always grateful for a drink, 
and will without delay avail themselves of the 
privilege of a cup of water. Our catbirds have 
an especial fondness for a deep-yellow pudding 
bowl in the shade of the maple, and no sooner 
is it filled full of clear, cool water than there is 
a rush for first place. One, two, and three cat- 
birds balance themselves on the rim, and with 
fluttering wings jump in and out again many 
times ere they settle down for a good bath. The 
water is too deep, or, in its clearness is deceptive 
as to depth, for the birds exhibit in pantomime 
what in words would be: 

"O dear, that water is too cold, and awfully 
deep ! We '11 drown, maybe — ugh — ugh, — ugh" 
and accentuate this with little shrugs and shivers, 
so you see how much courage it takes for a 
bird to bathe, even though they are full of longing 
for the treat. The young catbirds run around 
the edge of the bowl as if trying to hide from 
the energetic parents who push and urge by turns. 
Though cleanliness be next to godliness, these 

206 



FEATHERED GUESTS 

are the generality of small boys, and when they 
youngsters are quite as averse to the process as 
have finally scrambled into the bowl, they scram- 
ble out again in a hurry, half-washed, and wholly 
resentful, and run away into the hedge to preen 
their soft baby plumage as quickly as may be. 
The catbird seemed the only bird that resented 
intrusion on his ablutions, and always insisted on 
making his toilet quite alone and uninterrupted 
by other birds. At sunset they came as eagerly 
to bathe as in the early morning, and when they 
settled in low branches and looked disconsolately 
at the emptied bath, we hastened to fill it and 
with grateful chirpings the birds plunged in- 
stantly into the bowl. In fact, evening baths 
seemed as much, if not more, in demand than 
morning plunges, as if day was done and all 
housekeeping cares laid aside, the babies asleep 
and the tired parents free to refresh and cleanse 
their tired bodies. When the sparrows intruded 
upon a catbird's bath, this bather in gray quickly 
made an angry splashing that deluged the small 
bird until he was glad to hop out and join his 
companions on the rim of the bowl, there to 
patiently wait until milord finished his ablutions. 
The robins bathe with orderly precision, not 
squabbling among themselves as sometimes the 
catbirds do, and in a shallow dish close by the 
sparrows splash in happy companionship. A car- 
14 207 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

dinal bird, on a certain hot noon, plunged into 
the swimming-pool, and was having a splendid 
time splashing and dashing in the water, when 
a catbird suddenly espied him, and without hesi- 
tation he hurried down to the edge of the bowl, 
and, plunging in, gave battle to the astonished 
cardinal. Bearing no malice, and having, after 
all, had a refreshing bath, the cardinal shook 
his feathers and soared into the top of a tree, 
there breaking into song, sending forth a shower 
of notes, sweet, clear. At this the selfish catbird 
lifted his head, and, standing half-submerged in 
the water, listened a moment in puzzled wonder- 
ment. Then, springing from his bath, he perched 
himself on a ridge-pole, and in harsh, derisive 
tones, imitated the whistle of the cardinal. Again 
and again, over and over, this dripping, spiteful 
gray bird rang his burlesque melody in a small, 
cracked voice, throwing into it a saucy twang 
that called forth applause from us for his elocu- 
tionary efforts. As for the cardinal in the tree- 
top, away up against the blue, he paid no more 
attention to the mocker than if he did not hear 
him. Perhaps he did not. Life was lovely to 
him ; life always is seemingly to a redbird, for 
unlike other of his feathered kinfolk, he seeks 
the topmost branches of the highest tree to sing 
and sing and sing. If you hear his call, never 
look low for him; turn your opera-glass up 

208 



FEATHERED GUESTS 

against the sky, and on the very highest tip of 
a branch that is strong enough for his small body, 
there you may see him, a mere speck. 

A red-headed woodpecker chooses for his bath 
hour a time when the pools are comparatively 
deserted, for he is either an arrant coward or 
devoid of social proclivities. As, alighting on a 
tree trunk, he waits the flight of the greedy spar- 
rows from the vicinity of the bread crumbs, so 
he does in bathing. Clutching the bark of the 
tree with his yoked toes and supporting himself 
by his tail feathers pressed closely against the 
tree, he turns his shining crimson head this way 
and that, looking gravely over his shoulder like 
a timid little old lady until, when the coast is 
clear, he slips quietly down to the big yellow 
bowl and plunges in, solemnly splashing his beau- 
tiful coat of black and white until it comes out 
of the process of preening like glistening silk. 
He allows no familiarity from any bird, and never 
condescends to squabble over a precedence in 
favors. 

A bluebird one morning insisted upon a family 
bath, and with her mate and her two baby birds 
in their new coats flew down to the pool. After 
a small spash on her own account, she hopped 
out, and around and around the bowl she chased 
the youngsters. Away they would flutter into the 
hedge, then out again, and hide under the rim of 
209 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

the bowl. Bathe they would not until one of 
them, in its hurry to fly out of the way, struck 
against a parent bird in midair, and so tumbled 
into the water. This encouraged the other young 
one, and together they splashed about in the 
water, to the evident satisfaction of the old birds, 
and after the ablutions they all flew into a low- 
growing tree and preened their feathers, at times 
hopping out into the sun and spreading out their 
wings to let their feathers dry. 

The bobolinks in the fall may also be often 
seen roving over the fields in company with 
smaller birds, and their call once heard is never 
forgotten. Their stay is short, however, for they 
quickly leave us for the rice-fields of the Southern 
States. Here they disport themselves in sober 
winter clothes of brown, and are known as the 
"rice birds." 

/ 'm Robert 0' Lincoln, but some folks say "Bob!" 
And I sing, and I sing, and I sing! 

The air 's full of sunshine, the grasses all nod, 
As I swing, and I swing, and I swing. 

September sees a great flitting away of our 
summer folk of the tree-tops. Warmer, sunnier 
climes lure them, and orioles, bobolinks, thrushes, 
chats, and many others follow the call. 

October's falling leaves warn the grackles and 
meadow-larks to move on, and by November the 

210 



FEATHERED GUESTS 

real winter birds are settling down all about us, 
hunting warm winter quarters in the forests or 
about the house. Wrens make themselves cozy 
in the woodshed ; a pair of cardinals found snug 
hiding one winter under the eaves of a porch; 
woodpeckers — the males — selfishly go to sleep in 
the dark holes they have already excavated with 
a view to spring housekeeping. 

All the winter-birds are seed-eaters, nut- 
pickers par excellence, and a strolling band of 
players could not afford one greater amusement. 

Woodpeckers and jays seem best provided for 
with their well-hidden hordes ; not too well hid- 
den either, for "M'sieu of the Bushy-tail" fre- 
quently surprises himself by stumbling on un- 
expected treasures. 

Pine-warbles, grosbeaks, snow buntings, 
brown-creepers, white-throated sparrows, all the 
woodpeckers come to the house for food. Tap- 
ping at my window, literally, they all come, Devil- 
downhead — "Devil-may-care," by the way he 
tumbles up and down the window-frame — often- 
est of all comes he, little, but "powerful hongry/' 
The half-shell cocoanut (their own private dish) 
that hangs on the trellis, I fill to the full twice 
a day with cracked nuts ; ever is it ready for 
re-filling. Crumbs and hulled popcorn ever on 
the window-sills ; hot corn-cakes on the porch 
for breakfast; suet on the trees. 

211 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

"Peace" is the watchword among born ene- 
mies, for solitude, and winter's desolation bring 
them together in sympathy and for protection. 
Small birds elaborately ignore former idiosyn- 
crasies of the jay in the matter of eggs and, 
if you are lucky enough to run across such a 
band on your walk of a snowy day, in their 
winter coats, you will find them a jolly busy lot, 
and a bright feature of the landscape. 

"Vergiss nicht die kleinen Vogel." 



212 



Gray Days and Migrating Birds 

Quakerish dawns, and a wind untying soft, 
gray, misty night-caps from the trees. To the 
North, a range of hills — or is the undulent length 
lying low along the horizon a far island? The 
wide intervening pasture land is submerged in 
the high-tide of fog. Barely is it day and, silently, 
across the. pale sky drift long lines of birds 
sharply silhouetted. Against the faint yellow 
light of coming sunrise tall trees are stenciled 
blackly, and, through the thicket of their branches 
sweeps a rosy sphere — not in the sky apparently 
but out of it — against it, a toy-balloon sailing 
high and changing from rose to gold. Here and 
here through the tossing fog bank tiny islands 
of feathery green show themselves, and, in mid- 
September the haze hangs veilingly all the day. 
Gray days in the deep woods are days of in- 
comparable loveliness. In September the trees 
are yet full of birds, fuller than in mid-summer, 
for the crowd is augmented by the arrival of a 
host of migrants, all of them out of voice, how- 
ever, except the cardinals, who seem to whistle 
and sing as gayly, and with as many notes as in 
213 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

the spring time. The glowing tints of autumn, 
and warm days of Indian summer ofttimes tease 
the birds into long lingering, and even Novem- 
ber sometimes sees the robins about, or a risky 
thrasher picking among the brown leaves. Au- 
tumn flings out its first signal in crimson banners 
of woodbine that cover in smothering embrace 
trees reaching skyward. A background of dark 
green oak-leaves, and shining across and through 
the paling colors of the maples, the blood-dyed 
foliage burns in ecstasy. The beeches clothe 
themselves in russet brown, the oaks don robes 
of splendid scarlet, and the yellow maples flare 
out like torches. 

A gray day in spring-woods sets one to lis- 
tening for the faint sound of all young growing 
things. Ear to earth catch we not the soft, per- 
sistent pricking of leaf-mold, as the pointed 
leaves of the ''adder's tongue" spring upward? 
Almost we hear the fairy unfolding of the flower's 
white, or yellow lily-petals curling backward until 
the starry face of it seems a'smile ! The whis- 
pering of tasseled wind-tossed tree-blossoms ; the 
nibblings of the squirrel who, hanging to a 
branch, with his canny paw draws up an elm 
tree tip to nibble the tender heart from out the 
buds. All manner of delicate noises tremble on 
the air in a soft-shadowed gray day in the woods. 
The muffled flutter of wings, as, with melodious 

214 



GRAY DAYS AND MIGRATING BIRDS 

twitterings the robins fly to and fro with mud- 
bedaubed feathers. Sunny days are not for plas- 
terers among the rank and file of bird-dom! 

Gray days in autumn woods ! A day without 
the stirring of a bough ; a day of slow-falling 
quiet mist when the trees stand proudly, silently, 
as conscious of their wealth, and dare not even 
shiver lest they lose a golden leaf! Glad of the 
penetrating moisture enameling their foliage and 
rejoicing in their full time of fruitage. How 
sweet the spicy smell of ripening walnuts ! How 
eagerly are the hazel-nuts casting forth their 
treasures ! On the yellow carpet, the carpet of 
Oriental hues, the squirrels frisk, and among the 
dripping leaves jays "whose eyes hint tragedies," 
woodpeckers, nut-hatches, birds innumerable 
gayly disport themselves. The fine rain is but a 
shower bath to these feathered folk. Under their 
vigorous attacks the hazel-nuts come rattling 
down like hail. No bird-song do we hear, singing 
days are over, but excited persistent chatter of 
things in general, and exchange of views as to 
best roads going South. 

The red-headed woodpecker is noisily carv- 
ing out his spring-time nest — his sleeping apart- 
ment for the winter. His, alone, understand, 
for his mate of the summer must now shift for 
herself! If she survives the winter she is lucky — 
he will graciously allow her to rear his family! 

215 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

If not — a shrug of his shoulders shakes off his 
sins, and almost any foolish young bird will be 
captivated next summer by his "red, white, and 
blue — (black)" coat! 

Gray days in the forest are singularly quiet. 
Any slightest sound awakens interest — almost 
you may hear the sighing of a leaf in its fall. 
The woodpecker's drum is the only harsh, dis- 
turbant note. I wot of a "downy" woodpecker 
whose industry gave forth a cheery sound of 
houses building through many gray days. From 
early spring until fall she busied herself in carv- 
ing holes in a pear-tree in the very maddest 
sort of way ! The first hole cut, she left it half- 
finished to begin a second. The second was well 
excavated into the tree and turned downward in 
its course, and out of its depths she made the 
chips fly in true "manual labor" fashion. Aban- 
doning this one she marked a third place for 
excavation just below it; left this unfinished and 
started a fourth oh the south side of the tree. 
Such perseverance ! Such hurried returns to 
her work after short absences ! Such scurrying 
about from hole to hole, trying to bring the work 
on each to the same stage of advancement ! Not a 
look to right or left ; no whit disturbed by our ob- 
servation ! Sraight to work — no frivoling for her! 
At no time whatever did I see a mate attendant 
upon her. Dissatisfied with her artistic effort 

216 



GRAY DAYS AND MIGRATING BIRDS 

on the fourth hole she cut above it a fifth, a 
sixth, a seventh in an even row, only one of the 
number being finished by October — her own 
sleeping place, it proved, through the winter! 
For that purpose only was it utilized, as a spring 
storm blew down the tree, and thus cut off all 
our hopes for the little home-maker in a pros- 
pective family, in that locality at least! 

September skies are darkened with the long 
lines of passing birds, but many of our summer 
birds linger until after October, or until early 
frosts send them away on swift wings. Squirrels 
and chipmunks have long ago laid in their winter 
stores, but the former will not disdain to come at 
any time to doors or windows for nuts — and they 
are mighty gay company withal. 

In the campus jays and squirrels drink at the 
same water-trough, in most amicable fashion, on 
opposite sides. All went well until a jay, re- 
gardless of sanitation, plunged in for a bath. 
Promptly both squirrels dropped to their 
haunches, folded little brown paws over their 
white breasts, turned their heads sidewise looking 
the query, "Now 'd ye ever see the like o' that?" 

It 's a simple matter preparing for winter, 
but tell me, do, if a squirrel may "sniff" a snow- 
storm? Breakfasting, one warmish sunny morn- 
ing last winter, I on the inside of the pane, two 
squirrels on the sill outside nibbling nuts in the 

217 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

friendliest way, and entertaining me with all man- 
ner of acrobatic feats of springing from shutter 
to shutter — directly across my window — all in 
a moment a thrifty idea seemed to flash into 
their brains. No longer did they crack the nuts 
but carried them one, and one, (over three dozen 
of them, for, interested in proceedings I handed 
out as many as were called for), across the 
road and hid them away. First, they scrambled 
the nuts into tree crotches, jammed them into 
holes, or into tight places between trunk and 
branch — pounding them firmly down — for I got 
my opera-glasses and watched. Then when all 
available "holes" seemed "taken," they begun to 
bury the nuts in the long brown grass now fast 
whitening with snow! Back and forth they went 
from campus to porch — to window-sill and the 
nuts — burying them in haste until the snow was 
too deep for digging, but not until it had grown 
deep enough to fly like powder under the busy 
paws ! 

Our last singing visitor on a gray, gray misty 
day was a tiny song-sparrow. Migrating was 
he, — evidently, had become separated from his 
"folks," and dropped exhaustedly into our grape- 
vine trellis. How he panted, and gasped, open- 
mouthed ! Rested, he "took heart of grace," 
cleared his throat, warbled a note or two, and 
launched forth upon a sea of song! Was it 

218 



GRAY DAYS AND MIGRATING BIRDS 

pride in his accomplishment that tossed his head 
so high? or of the little brown button on his 
breast ? For three gray days he lingered making 
the garden sweet with song, and on swift wings 
fled away to "Dixie!" 

On the morning of October seventeenth, the 
grayest of gray days, a band of migrating robins 
came to rest on the lawn. The Saturday before 
at supper time, there appeared in the maple a 
single robin, evidently very tired and drowsy, 
as it cuddled down in one spot nor stirred for 
two hours. To all appearances the bird went 
sound asleep, quite heedless of the concern she 
created among the sparrows who circled excitedly 
about her, uneasy in their small minds as to what 
such a queer customer might be, for she did not 
show the ruddy breast of the robins with which 
they were familiar, looking much more like a 
small gray owl. After perhaps half an hour, 
a male bird appeared and coming down to her 
side waked her with various chirpings. Lan- 
guidly she listened to him and, complying with 
his urgent remarks, she dropped to the ground 
and with him drank thirstily from the bowl of 
water, returning to her roost and going to sleep 
immediately. In the morning both birds had 
gone. On Monday morning when we stepped 
out onto the back porch, we found that the night 
had brought us strange visitants. The lawn was 

219 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

covered with robins, gray, dusty, travel-stained 
fellows, thin and gaunt looking, and minus the 
ruddy coloring of the well-fed, home-bred robins 
that were hopping excitedly about among the 
strangers. The rim of the wide yellow bowl that 
is always full of water for the birds was crowded 
with robins ; the edge of the tub, on the well 
curb, brimming with water also, held its own 
circle of the birds crowded together as thickly 
as they could find standing room. Around both 
drinking places, out on the ground, were number- 
less other robins impatiently awaiting their turn. 
Such a time, as the first-comers were having 
drinking as if famished, flirting the water about, 
tossing it over themselves and each other, and 
twittering away in throaty tones that answered 
very well for "grunts" of satisfaction! How 
crazy with delight they were about the water ! 
As quickly as the ones that had satisfied their 
thirst would fly off, the waiting ones scrambled 
into their places. The birds on the ground were 
not still a moment but hopped around and around 
the bowl as if it were almost impossible to wait 
for a drink — shoving and pushing one another. 
Such a fluttering of gray wings when they 
all arose! The air seemed full of birds, coming 
and going and changing places constantly. Many 
of them after drinking plunged into the bowl for 
a bath, crowding each other in their haste, and 

220 



GRAY DAYS AND MIGRATING BIRDS 

by their number quickly displacing all the water. 
Food seemed no temptation to them, they were 
only weary and thirsty, and after their water- 
revel, they all fluttered into the trees and, fluffing 
themselves out precisely like young owls went 
off into a nap, and there they dozed until after- 
noon! creating consternation among the smaller 
birds who no doubt believed that a plague of 
owls had fallen upon them. About two o'clock 
they bestirred themselves, began to stretch and 
to preen their feathers, rise into the air and fly 
about as if testing their renewed powers, and 
then with one accord sailed away southward, 
taking with them our own door-yard robins. 
When they were on the ground, their weariness 
seemed so great that it drove away all fear, for 
we walked close up to them, and might easily 
have taken one into our hands, had we not feared 
a premature flight. They seemed absolutely obliv- 
ious of us — their only ideas being water and rest. 
Whence came they? How far had they jour- 
neyed? And how did they know just where 
water might be found? Had they stopped by 
pure accident? Hardly, birds have more method 
than that. Were the earlier comers of the Sat- 
urday before "scouts ?" Had our domestic robins 
met them in air and given them information, 
or had they simply, flying over, glimpsed the 
water beneath ? In case they were invited guests, 

221 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

then the entertainers had more on their claws 
than they bargained for, amazement showing 
plainly in their stare as the newcomers usurped 
all the water privileges. There were few ruddy 
breasted robins among the migrating birds, and 
those few were very pale in color, and were so 
thin that the white rings around their eyes gave 
them all a wild appearance. Possibly the fall 
in temperature from 8o° to 52 of the night be- 
fore had bewildered the birds with sudden cold, 
and they hardly knew where to go or what to 
do, their instinct being to drop from the higher, 
colder atmosphere to Mother Earth's cosey lap 
to cuddle down and keep warm! 



222 



Before the Storm 

By way of being an "Attic Philosopher," making 
the most of my "sky parlor" with its narrow 
windows glimpsing far a purple horizon; pass- 
ing the time of day with prideful pigeons strut- 
ting, anon, on my high window-ledge ; noting, 
above the smokeless chimney-tops, against the 
blue long sweeping flights of duck as they follow 
the curving of the peaceful "Kaw" in early mi- 
gration northward, scraping acquaintance with 
an occasional troop of cardinals seed-hunting in 
the tall weeds of the bottom-land bordering the 
river — to me, then, making the best of things 
outwardly, consumed with longing inwardly for 
a place to scrape closer acquaintance with the 
outdoor things of this Western land, came sud- 
denly a house and acres and trees and birds, 
in the dragging days of winter ! 

With immense satisfaction I entered into my 
inheritance. The wide, sunny south window on 
the ground floor appealed to me, for, outside, 
stood a long-armed umbrella-tree, bare and bleak. 

Birds there were — birds there must be, for 

15 223 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

an occasional shout proclaimed the woodpeckers 
abroad, and a faint trial-note from a bluebird, 
here and there, showed him duped by languorous 
days into belief of spring's arrival. 

In my new housekeeping delights I now reck- 
oned the coming birds, and with all haste spread 
the ground with almonds, pecans, English wal- 
nuts, and with eager hands bunched up the soft, 
fresh suet on the lowest branches of the ''um- 
brella." 

But '± was astonishingly hard to teach new 
birds new tricks ! Having, heretofore, to earn 
their living in these parts, such largess was to 
be ^wspected, inspected, and passed by ! No one 
single bird came ! Even my pigeons of the roof- 
top, stupid though they be, had shown more 
quickly an appreciation of favors scattered on 
my hotel window-sill. 

Then, one day, gingerly the sparrows came 
— "English" sparrows from the barn-top, "Har- 
ris" sparrows from the osage hedge — out of 
curiosity — and pecking away at the cracked nuts 
on the window-ledge, peered at me with wonder. 
A new thing this, in an aristocratic neighbor- 
hood! 

Then upon this boulevard of fashion fell one 
of winter's stormiest gray days. The warm, 
pink light that spread over the sky morning after 
morning for weeks and months glowed no more, 

224 



BEFORE THE STORM 

and the dawn came in a weepy, misty haze; and 
lo! in early morning, beneath my bed-room win- 
dow, the umbrella-tree had blossomed out with 
shivering birds. The little peach-tree in Ohio 
bore only petals of a single color ; but here were 
hues of the rainbow on branches whose glory 
is but leaves! 

Cuddled in the corner of my window-sill, as 
I drew up the curtain, was the female cardinal, 
and she stood my close, delighted presence as 
if we were old friends, screwing herself about 
and about, with every feather fluffed to make the 
most of its downy covering for protection against 
the howling gale. The opposite corner shielded 
a small sparrow, who pushed himself back into 
the cranny, determined the "ill-wind" should 
blow, him only good, for he faced it and had the 
benefit of its force in fixing him securely. 

But the tree ! As if awakened to the coming 
stress for food (the snow was lightly flying,) the 
branches were literally strung with birds ! Spar- 
rows in chattering rows fluffed out — innumerable. 
Two bluejays, handsome, dashing, in spring suits, 
sitting sullenly apart, angry, aggrieved at the 
change of temperature and dearth of food. 
Eight-thirty A. M., and no breakfast! Sudden 
cold after springlike days — deplorable, not to be 
endured ! Hunched up, stubborn-looking, they sat 
in the rocking gale, squawky, complaining. No 

225 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

compromise of any kind would they accept. Fair 
weather and a prompt breakfast — only these 
would move them to amiability. On another 
twig swung the splendid cardinal, cheery as you 
please, head up, his feathers light as down. He 
looked about him inquiringly, at intervals softly 
crooning, "Whoo-oo-oo ?" A second female car- 
dinal perched near him. She had secured a grain 
of corn (left-over lunch from yesterday), and 
her head drawn down into her feathers as if for 
warmth, she faced me fearlessly, not five feet 
outside my window-pane, twisting her head this 
way and that, so it was an easy matter for me 
to watch her turning the kernel over and over 
in her open mouth. She would stand it length- 
wise in her beak, as if trying to crush it; then, 
her mouth closing, I would think, "Now its gone 
down." But no, again and yet again she showed 
it to me "on end" in her bill, and fluttering her 
tiny red tongue about it. Then, finally, it must 
have been arranged to her liking, for she tidily 
wiped her mouth on a branch and settled down 
to wait developments — or my coming down stairs. 

An extra bad morning called for extra good 
rations, and fried mush, together with English 
walnuts (extravagant fare for birds, but a "lag- 
niappe" that went with bad weather), was added 
to bread-crumbs, suet, and corn. 

But the suet was as yet untouched. "Vergiss 

226 



BEFORE THE STORM 

nicht die kleine vogel" held no place in the Dec- 
alogue of Western Christianity; but, led by the 
hungry horde of sparrows, these new birds were, 
after ten days' temptation, learning new tricks. 
My largess, flung from the south window, 
instantly was accepted. To the ground swooped 
the hungry crowd, and, in the circle of young 
grass coaxed into greenness by a fictitious spring, 
now snow - besprinkled, the motley crew in 
feathers greedily disported themselves. Each 
seized his ration and flew aloft. The jay held 
his nut neatly between his feet on the branch 
and daintily picked the heart out of his pecan, 
deftly shuffling it about for convenience. The 
female cardinals — those motherly, comfortable, 
olive-gray birds — helped themselves to crusts of 
bread, which they nibbled at politely. What color 
in their feathers as they sat before me ! The 
long, drooping tail showed beneath a warm, rosy 
gray; outside it is grayish brown, tipped with 
red ; the breast is a soft golden gray, always with 
hint of a warmer color beneath ; the wings red- 
tipped, and her crest of red stands straight up, 
blown erect (for the wind is at her back) until 
it is a perfect prototype of an Indian's head- 
dress. Her expression is the mildest in the world. 
You would know she was amiable, "easy to be 
entreated," by just one look. She does not be- 
grudge the season its wintry days now and then. 
227 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

With her mate, she kens of warm, sheltering 
places. 

Where the crusty jays betake themselves, I do 
not know ; but they look mighty unpleasant folk 
out there in the wind and the snow, querulously 
scolding, and as they utter their three cross notes 
they have an up-and-down motion like a killdeer. 

The chickadees have sampled the suet. At 
last it is found to be edible. A taste only, and 
they are off again to the tree-top. But swings 
through the air a downy woodpecker, scarlet- 
capped. Low on the trunk of the umbrella-tree 
he alights, scurries boldly up, and attacks the 
suet. Guest number two for this table ! Down 
swoop the sparrows ! "Is it possible that white 
stuff is to eat?" What an opportunity for greed- 
iness has been neglected ! They swing above the 
downy and watch him, who, with an eye to busi- 
ness, pays no smallest heed to them. Below 
him his tiny mate, in sober black and white (no 
red cap for her) shyly adventures, but again 
and again retreats at sudden flutter of any bird's 
wing, especially when the big guinea woodpecker 
clambers up the tree-trunk. 

Aha, the surly blue jays have turned an eye 
his way ! Swoop ! Away dodges the downy, 
and, with mircoscopic examination, his oppo- 
nent digs out a huge mouthful of the dainty. 
Good! Comes the mate, and yet another of his 

22S 



BEFORE THE STORM 

ilk, learning at last where to look for the most 
"toothsome" morsel. The cardinals drop to the 
ground, and "Monsieur," picking up a grain of 
corn, hops briskly across the grass and daintily, 
delicately, lovingly places it in the open mouth 
of his mate, who flutters her wings in affecta- 
tion, precisely as a coquette twirls a fan. Feed- 
ing his mate, and it 's snowtime! Spring is truly 
on the way; nesting ideas are in their heads! 
Laughs my friend, who, breakfasting with me, 
looks out of the window, "Such a tree ! like a 
Christmas-tree hung with pieces of crusts and 
suet !" "Heathen you are !" I declare ; "not 
one of you people look after the birds." 

Into my group of break f asters come three folk 
in furs — two in brown, one in gray. Shall I tell 
you their names ? Well, the fat, jolly little beggar 
in gray is "Joe" — "Joe Cannon," of whom one 
hears much in Kansas. The wee brown one is 
"Ted," for at not any single moment is he too 
busy to stop and run across to one squirrel or 
another to see what he is about ! And the third 
one is named "Bob," military to a degree. 

But this morning, in the misty snow and tear- 
ing wind, the squirrels do not stop to eat. They 
have other "fish to fry," and with squeals and 
hurry, they rush about on the lawn, burying their 
plunder of black walnuts with industrious haste. 
And do you know where they have also found 

229 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

place to hide their nuts? In the pocket of an 
old coat hanging under the eaves of the back 
porch. Stuffed to the brim is that musty old 
brown pocket, and when the rains come, in warm, 
snug shelter "Adjidaumo" sits upon the long 
beam and feasts himself. 

But these are "fast-days" — stormy, weather- 
breeding — not feast-days, and in wondrous short 
time the jays follow suit and are carrying off 
nuts to places unknown to me. My opera-glass 
can not follow them. 

Beneath the tree, close to the ground, cowers 
a chilly robin-redbreast. He has come too soon! 
Sifting snow powders his gray feathers as he 
"cuddles" himself up to keep warm; and in this 
one position he stands for thirteen minutes by 
my tiny clock! 

Now the snow is deepening, the tree is shed- 
ding its "blossoms;" they flit before the gale, 
and I see them no more. 

But the sun is bound to shine ! Red and round 
and warm, it comes masterfully up day after day. 
Like magic the whiteness of the ground sinks 
away beneath the early greenness, the peach-trees 
across the way glow in pink, the plum-trees don 
bridal garments, the elms and maples shake out 
their tassels, and a rollicking note tells me the 
orioles are in the tree-tops, swinging, balancing, 

230 



BEFORE THE STORM 

picking tiny insects from among young buds. 
The robins run in pairs, ofttimes in threes ! But 
"three 's a crowd," and two give battle, while 
the "prize" looks on unconcernedly, and eventu- 
ally flies away with the victorious one in feathers. 

To-day the squirrels — one, two, three, four, 
five — come to the edge of the porch — not quite 
brave enough to eat out of my hand, but with 
sufficient courage to pick up nuts that I drop, 
and to sit up solemnly and crack and eat them 
while I wait. 

The cardinal whistles a new note. I answer. 
He adds two more notes in melody new to 
my ears. I reply. From tree to tree he hunts 
that other bird! Where can he be? Who is 
his rival? Back of the house he flits, then into 
the pine-trees, then across the street, calling, 
whistling, trying me with all manner of vocal 
exercises, growing more and more excited as 
his quest seems useless, for me he can not locate, 
well-hidden behind the porch curtain. For more 
than twenty minutes we keep up the game of hide- 
and-seek, and till I, quite breathless, give over 
the game. 

It seems but the other day — even mid- 
December — when the roadside showed patches 
of tiny white asters ! But to-day the air is full 
of fragrance, and the trees march along the 
231 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

banks of the smiling river "Kaw" clothed in 
lacy garments of pale olive green, and the dip of 
oars and echo of college songs across the water 
proclaim in no uncertain tone, "Spring; spring, 
spring!" 



232 



An Apartment in Demand 

"Sap-suck's gittin' down to oizl" 

— Riley. 

The original owner, builder and excavator first 
brought herself into notice by a peremptory "tap- 
tap-tap-ping," presumably on our porch door. 
Springing to answer the summons, we found, 
not a raven, but a yellow-winged flicker who 
had chosen a spot on the east side of an old 
apple-tree stump for its nest and had begun oper- 
ations in the most vigorous manner. A mighty 
wind long ago twisted off the top of the tree, 
leaving a stump perhaps ten feet high. Procras- 
tination spared it for the home of this flicker, 
who, with provident eye, discovered the amount 
of labor saved in having an outside thatch to one's 
house that was crammed with delicious grubs. 
Virginia creeper wreathes the trunk from bottom 
to top and swings out great bunches of flowers 
for the humming-bird. Our flicker with its chisel- 
shaped bill ripped off the bark of the apple-tree 
and, flinging it to right and left, finally settled 
down to excavating a hole in the old wood. Soon 

233 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

a little stream of saw-dust trickled to the grass 
beneath, and, later, the ground was strewn with 
good-sized chips as the work progressed and the 
builder enlarged her dwelling. When the open- 
ing became deep enough to hold its body, the 
bird worked from the inside pushing out the 
chips energetically. The male bird also assisted 
in the work of excavation. 

This nest-making was watched with deep 
interest by the other birds. They perched on 
a clothes-line near by, and on every available 
branch, peering, peeping, and chattering about 
the performance, and when the flicker disap- 
peared, even swinging themselves down to look 
into the hole. A black and white woodpecker 
"Downy" examined the nest minutely and with 
evident delight, hitching himself gravely about 
the entrance, and had quite decided to occupy, 
when the return of the owner caused him to de- 
part with obsequious haste. A tiny gray bird — 
a wood-pewee, for a day or two disputed the 
title to the estate, but the flicker proved her claim 
by routing out the usurper whenever she caught 
her in the nest, when the intruder would hide 
beneath the branches of the creeper and nar- 
rowly watch the flicker coming and going, and 
being gone she would slip in herself, only to be 
again routed ! 

When, emerging from the eggs, two young- 

234 



AN APARTMENT IN DEMAND 

sters came to fill up the nest, busy times began 
for the parents. The appetites of the young 
birds were ravenous. From morning until night 
they cried out for food in no gentle tones, and 
many a grub dozing in fancied security beneath 
the apple-tree bark, was pried out and sacrificed 
on the altar of family affection. But most of 
the sustenance was excavated from the terrace 
below our windows, long puzzling us as to what 
it could be. Hour after hour would the busy 
birds dig, dig, dig into the bank, devouring with 
great gusto the tid-bits found therein. Up and 
down the terrace the birds would travel, never 
once lifting their heads to exhibit a wriggling 
worm as the robins do, but evidently swallowing 
as fast as they could gather up the morsels. 

Watching, waiting, puzzling, and the aid of 
an opera-glass finally discovered to us their feast, 
and our investigation of the terrace showed it to 
be full of tiny ant hills, the inhabitants thereof 
serving as food for the flickers. Their smooth 
long tongues covered with a sticky exudation, 
they plunged into the center of a colony of ants 
and licked up the busy workers as a cat licks 
cream. Packing their throat full, away they 
would go to the nest where they literally 
crammed the ants into the gaping throats of 
the young birds, ramming down the supply in 
such a vigorous way that my constant apprehen- 

235 



UNDER OXFORD TREES . 

sion was lest the sharp bills should pierce through 
the back of the small neck. Thus the fledglings 
were fed precisely in the manner in which the 
nest was excavated — with repeated and rapid 
vibrations of the head of the bird, as the long- 
tongue forced itself again and again into the 
wide open mouth, evidently drawing supplies 
from a full reservoir. There was no difficulty 
about observing the feeding process, for the 
birds were extremely lazy about flying, or trying 
their wings at all. They would scramble to 
the entrance of the hole and clinging to the edge, 
look out from their round window mildly wond- 
ering, much resembling prim little Quaker ladies 
in silky caps of gray. 

When they were not "wondering," they were 
calling loudly for food. Crowded together they 
would hang out two funny little heads that would 
nod and nod as their owners squawked out 
"Food-food-food !" "Ants, ants, ants !" "Food- 
food !" over, and over again, endlessly. It was 
a work of great patience and perseverance on 
the part of the wearied parents — persuading 
them to flight. 

Worn out with satisfying the voracious young 
appetites, they called and coaxed their children 
to "fly, little birdling, fly!" and patience giving 
out, finally allowed them to go hungry for a 
whole day, during which time they squawked 
236 



AN APARTMENT IN DEMAND 

wildly to be fed, and were answered with scolding 
loud and long. One whole day of this treatment 
and then one young flicker stepped out onto the 
branches of the Virginia creeper, fluttered his 
wings and flopped aimlessly away, tumbling at 
last into the grapevine, where he rested, surveyed 
the world and proudly took further flight. After 
a day of solitary state and little food the last bird 
came out, and for a week or two they stayed 
about the place, rousing us at all hours with 
their efforts at "drumming" on the porch roof 
as they solemnly dragged themselves before our 
windows. These young flickers were of a warm 
gray color, mottled with black, having sharply 
pointed tail feathers, bright yellow under wings 
and tail, and bright yellow quills, with a black 
ring in a circlet about the throat. 

The nest was no sooner vacated, than my 
lady of the soft gray-white breast who had kept 
an eye on affairs slipped in and took possession. 
From time to time she slipped out and daintily 
selected a straw or a long piece of withered 
grass and returned with it to the nest, took it 
inside and then came out to perch in front of 
the hole and fall into a "gray" study about some- 
thing. She was a very curiously acting little 
bird, always stopping to meditate after each ef- 
fort toward nest-building. She seemed to have 
liked the coziness of the nest, and, still, as she 

237 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

was used to building a home of "feathers and 
moss and a wisp of hay," something about this 
one was n't quite as it should be. So trying to 
equalize matters, she carried in straws, but could 
find no way in which to weave them and, puzzled, 
would come out and perch on a branch to think 
the matter over. Perfectly quiet she sat for 
five or ten minutes at a time, looking at' the 
hole in the tree, twisting her head this way and 
that, wondering what she should do about it, 
then down into the grass, take up more build- 
ing material and repeat the whole performance. 
She evidently did not know quite what to do, 
but the idea of a home ready made, so secure, 
so charmingly located, held a fascination she 
could not resist, and with alternations of pride 
and misgivings she set up her house-keeping. 
She was the most silent little bird, uttering but 
a single soft, pathetic note, "Dear!" "Dear!" 
and this at long intervals. But her housekeep- 
ing was not for long. I hardly think she laid 
any eggs before abandoning the place, as after 
a few days she disappeared from the garden. 

A year before a "Pic-bois-jaune" (or flicker), 
had started a nest in another crumbling tree 
in the garden, but luck was against it, for 
scarcely had it cut with great labor and precision 
the round hole for the opening and partly exca- 
238 



AN APARTMENT IN DEMAND 

vated, than, after one of the intervals for rest, 
it returned to find a red-headed woodpecker 
in possession, and possession being all points of 
the law in bird-dom, in possession she remained, 
and after vain attempts to recover its "holdings" 
the flicker retreated to the campus where are 
building sites a'plenty. 

When strong winds finally completed the de- 
struction of this giant tree and it lay on the 
ground in fragments of rotten wood, we learned 
that the hole in which the woodpecker had raised 
her brood was seventeen inches deep. Presum- 
ably she found a hollow already for occupancy 
when half way down, and her bill had drilled 
through into it. The gray bird, (a wood-peewee,) 
in her preparation had filled the hollow to the 
height of at least five inches with the grasses 
we had watched her select. 

A yellow-billed sap-sucker excavated a hole 
closely adjoining that of the flicker, but higher 
up, but having omitted to examine the other 
side of the branch he had chosen, to his great 
astonishment he had drilled but an inch or two 
in when his bill came out on the other side, the 
opposite side of the stump having rotted off. 
Such dismay was his as he scrambled around 
to the back part to examine the tree, thrusting 
his bill in the hole on that side, then back again 

16 239 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

to the front and thrusting his bill through that 
side again, hanging on with his feet at the mouth 
of the hole and turning his handsome head side- 
wise so his eye could squint at the daylight shin- 
ing through, but very wisely accepted the situa- 
tion with good grace and made a home in the 
dying maple. This tree itself would have lived 
for many a year had not these superbly costumed, 
sweet-tongued fellows gratified their taste by "tap- 
ping" it with hundreds of holes in "sugar time." 
The trunk of the tree was literally honey-combed 
with the marks made by this woodpecker, and 
many times two, three or four of the birds might 
be seen at one time drinking sap from the newly- 
drilled holes. 

The pine-trees that once stood in front of 
the house also suffered from their depredations, 
the gummy sap exuding and running down in 
streams from the holes they made. 

Last summer a red-headed woodpecker ap- 
peared at our door, or on the lawn rather, with 
three young ones, two of his own very evidently, 
one marked like the young of the yellow bellied- 
sap-sucker. Whether the latter had made a mis- 
take and laid in the wrong nest, or whether the 
strange bird had been found in the woods "un- 
appropriated," we do not know. 

Most likely the little fellow's parents had met 
240 



AN APARTMENT IN DEMAND 

with a mishap and he was alone in the world. Just 
possibly, however, the sap-sucker had been 
driven out of her nest by a later comer — the 
red-headed who thus adopted the offspring of 
the former tenant as her own. Certainly she gave 
him as good care as the others. 



241 



In the Spring o* the Year 

"Mr. Bluejay, full o' sass, 
In them baseball clothes o' his, 

Sportin' 'round the orchard jes' 
Like he owned the premisis!' 

In February, on a bright, warm day somewhere 
about the first of the month, the bluejays arrived 
in goodly number, and, coming out in the early 
morning, an outrageous calling and crying 
greeted me, while from the limbs of the pine- 
trees about the house there came circling over 
my head and alighting at my feet a dozen or 
more of these bright, saucy fellows, demanding 
their breakfast. Their familiarity and their 
actions showed them to be the same birds we 
had fed during the previous summer, and the 
bread I quickly scattered proved their identity, 
for they instantly fluttered around me to the 
ground, squabbling over and snatching at the 
largest pieces as I crumbed them. The birds 
gave no sign of timidity, and when the crumbs 
were all devoured, imperatively demanded more. 
Their early appearance was followed by snow and 
242 



IN THE SPRING O' THE YEAR 

very cold weather, but rations must have been 
low in the "bush," for those bluejays were the 
hungriest tramps whose inner cravings we ever 
tried to appease! 

In an idle way, in the first of the summer, 
we occasionally tossed them a few crumbs; but 
they soon showed us that they looked for it as 
a regular thing and as a business not to be 
neglected, calling us sharply to account when 
we forgot. At twelve o'clock almost to the min- 
ute one would come, and, alighting on a branch, 
begin to call. Then he would fly away, return- 
ing with one, two, or three other birds, sometimes 
many more, when they would all join in a discord- 
ant choir of sounds, until fed. At five o'clock, 
"sharp," they returned for supper. The jays 
showed no disposition to be social, treating the 
whole transaction as a mere matter of business. 
They were hungry, and we, having taken the 
contract to feed them, must stick to it, else they 
would make such uproar we should be glad to; 
but invariably they departed without even an 
interested glance at us. 

A robin will eat what you give him, but will 
hop sociably around, afterward with his head on 
one side, looking at you, questioningly, as if he 
appreciated your open-handed hospitality and 
would like to say so, if you were only not too 
stupid to understand. Sometimes he will come 

243 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

hopping familiarly by my chair on the porch, 
then up the step into the hall, quite inside, peer- 
ing up the stairs and sidling through open doors 
inquisitively, then walking out with an approv- 
ing nod, taking his departure with dignity and 
friendly deliberation. During a sudden drenching 
rain-storm, a robin sought shelter close beside 
my chair. His feathers were limp and dripping, 
and he stood dejectedly fluttering his wings and 
shrugging them up to his ears, cocking up at 
me occasionally, an eye full of disgust. "A lit- 
tle rain," he said, (or meant to say), "is all very 
well, but when it comes to a downpour like this, 
and a fellow gets so wet he simply can't fly, 
why, it 's too much for me, I can tell you !" Then 
he resigned himself to circumstances and settled 
down close to my rocker, occasionally fluttering 
his wings and casting upward a deprecating 
glance, until the sun burst through the clouds, 
and in a trice he deserted me for the moist 
ground, where he found, now, rare pickings of 
worms. How eagerly he turned his little black 
head, listening for the faintest stir among the 
earth-worms, and how viciously he dragged them 
out when he discovered them ! 

Our especial family of bluejays nested in an 
elm tree before our gates, year after year. One 
year the robins had the nest, then came the blue- 
jays' turn; then the latter "took up the claim," 

244 



IN THE SPRING O' THE YEAR 

and it was occupied each season by the same 
birds, or else handed down in entail through 
successive generations. As usual we were inter- 
ested in the nest-building, and offered suggestions 
in the way of rags, and strings and pieces of 
cotton, which they took in good part and, mostly, 
used them. One jay carried away a long strip of 
sky-blue calico, which she seemed puzzled to 
utilize. But, after studying the situation from all 
sides of the nest and giving it much deliberate 
thought, she succeeded in weaving it in and out 
until only a yard of the stuff swung gayly in the 
breeze, and there it waved all summer and 
through the winter, seemingly a fine enticement 
to cats, but it proved only decorative, after all, 
no harm coming to the family; and the prettiest 
nest that year was one with the blue wings of the 
mother bird brooding above, a ribbon of blue 
twined round about, and the triumphant pennant 
floating below. 

Jays enjoy (?) rather a bad reputation, which 
extends even to the rearing of their babies; but 
much watching of their ways, in this nest, re- 
vealed to me only great solicitude on their part 
from the first little peep of the young ones until 
they were fairly launched into a sea of green 
leaves. But, (with apologies), I must own, that, 
in other cases, when the newly-fledged were yet 
standing about on the tree branches and clinging 

245 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

among the trellises crying to be fed, not yet 
strong enough for long flights, I have known 
the parents to coolly desert them. Lacking con- 
fidence in their wings, a little shy of exploring 
the strange world into which they have plunged, 
squawking for food, yet ever showing fight when 
approached, these orphans hang about the house 
in the most undecided way. They perch, deject- 
edly, upon fence-posts, and, occasionally, submit 
to a hand-pat ; by much circumvention, you may 
coax them to eat from your hand, and, having 
eaten, they may follow you in blundering flight 
as you go indoors, only to almost beat the breath 
from their small bodies in aimless fluttering 
against walls and windows until caught, and 
released. 

Jays are also said to be "wary, and shy." 
Far from this we found them ! Loi-ds, indeed, 
of all our domain ! They conducted their do- 
mestic affairs coolly and indifferently, so far as 
iv e were concerned, accepting our help, but scold- 
ing us at a great rate all the time. 

Flying-time was a day of great tribulation 
one year. There were only two young birds in 
the nest, and when they seemed almost ready 
to take upon themselves the responsibilities of 
life, we were startled one evening at supper by 
sounds of battle. We sprang to the door to see 
two infuriated blue jays, the old birds, attacking 
246 



IN THE SPRING O' THE YEAR 

the family cat as she lay basking in the sun at 
the foot of a long flight of stone steps. The cat 
looked guilty enough, but was trying to assume 
an air of injured innocence, edifying to behold; 
which, however, did not impose upon the birds 
or upon us. One of them stood directly in front 
of her, hardly a foot from her nose, with both 
wings drooping on the stones and mouth wide 
open, uttering angry cries of vengeance and 
despair. The other bird was behind the cat, and 
at intervals of about half a minute, swooped over 
her head, in front of her eyes, making vicious 
pecks that only just failed to strike her. Evi- 
dently one of their young birds had been de- 
voured, but not a stray feather proved it. We 
sided with the besieging party, and sat down 
to watch it out. After five minutes of persecu- 
tion, the cat began a retreat, first one step higher, 
then a halt and. with blinking half-shut eyes she 
feigned sleep. Then another step, another nap, the 
birds pursuing her fiercely. When the last step 
was reached, she looked to us for help, and, failing 
that, sneaked under the grape-vine. From the 
trellis above the birds carried on the assault, and 
it ended in a grand rout for pussy, who suddenly 
raced to the porch, and thence to the wood-shed, 
the jays pursuing her to the very door. Next 
morning the birds left their nest the instant the 
cat appeared, renewing the battle, which resulted 
247 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

in the cat's final retreat under the house for the 
remainder of the day. After breakfast the only 
young bird in the nest essayed its first flight, hop- 
ping unsteadily along the limb until it grew brave 
enough to trust its wings, reaching the Virginia 
creeper on the house in a state of mingled fear 
and triumph, fluttering from there to the ground. 
The old jays having lost one child were greatly 
wrought up over the safety of this one, and the 
air resounded with warning cries as the birds 
kept one on each side of the little chap, until he 
could get to the tree again and away into the 
campus. 

A jaunty young robin appropriated a nest 
of the year before — also a jay's nest. When we 
saw her examining the premises, we remon- 
strated, assuring her that it was too badly out 
of repair to be weather-proof, or a safe place 
to raise a family ; but she decided it would save 
trouble and she 'd run the risk. So, with great 
pretense of house-building, she jumped into the 
shaky structure, flirted the straws and sticks 
about, making it more insecure than before, 
daubed it carelessly with mud, and without ado 
began to lay her eggs and assume matronly cares. 
Her shiftlessness led to a tragedy. Hardly had 
the youngsters begun to stir themselves when, 
one afternoon, something pushed itself over the 
edge of the nest and fell to the ground with a 
248 



IN THE SPRING O' THE YEAR 

sickening thud. It was one of the young robins, 
and I picked up a warm featherless little body 
with the life knocked out of it. Two minutes 
later, down came a second bird, losing its life, 
also, on the stones, and when the bereft mother 
reached home, I stood under the tree, with the 
birds lying on my hand, and tried to explain 
matters, hoping she would exonerate me! But 
she was sadly distressed, also suspicious, and, 
when I laid the birds down on the flag-stone 
and went off a little way to watch her, she hop- 
ped around and around, examining them care- 
fully, calling and coaxing impatiently. The other 
parent bird arriving, the two talked the matter 
over, flying anxiously from nest to birds and 
back again, until I carried the unlucky infants 
away. 



249 



Troubles in Bird Land 

The chirrup of the robin and the whistle of the 

quail, 
As he piped across the meadow, sweet as any 

nightingale. T ,, r ^ 

* S —J. W. RlLEY. 

Along the: Rilky Road 

The: old "Riley Road," running over hills and 
through deep dales, often dabbling its dusky way 
through the clear waters of "Indian Creek," and 
passing through dense woods, is joyous with 
ripples and runes of bird-song. Fields of stubble 
on one side of the rocky highway are alive with 
quail and meadow larks that rise flutteringly, 
half startled by rolling wheels, then settle tenta- 
tively on low twigs and in fence corners, as if, 
after all, there is no cause for alarm. The bor- 
ders of the road are yellowing with golden rod 
and purpling with asters ; butterflies, white and 
bronze, soar in the ecstasy of summer sunshine 
over the tiny flowers of the sweet Indian grass, 
that yields its perfume of the crushing of its 
feathery growth. 

250 



TROUBLES IN BIRD LAND 

The quails, disturbed, run before you like a 
flock of chickens, clucking and clacking, and not 
until far away, quite across the field, do they re- 
gain their equanimity and send out their cheerful 
call. The first note of a quail always seems as if 
brought forth with an effort. It begins with a 
whistle of "Bob," sharp and clear ; then a rest, 
as though he were wondering, if after much 
practice, he had got it right at last, and then he 
follows it up briskly with "White !" repeating 
instantly and more continuously, "Bob White ; 
Bob, Bob White !" and than this there is no clearer 
bird call. 

The meadow larks along this quiet road are 
not shy, and in many cases evince curiosity as we, 
sitting quietly under a convenient tree, turn upon 
them an opera-glass. Closer and closer they 
come in short flights across the stubble, their 
gay, yellow waistcoats, golden mail as the sun 
strikes their breasts. 

Among all the countless variety of birds to 
be come up with on this wandering Riley Road, 
if your laggard steps can keep pace with wing 
flight, not one offers to your inspection a dis- 
position more various in its moods than the 
shrike. Though his character is not a reputable 
one, yet he has certain domestic qualities that 
endear him to his family, such as watchfulness 
and tender solicitude for his mate in nesting 

251 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

time, and, later, for the young birds that crowd 
his nest. Following him over fields of stubble 
is an exciting pursuit, and on a certain afternoon, 
when we first discovered him perched on an old 
fence post, we were unfortunate enough to lose 
him in the chase. His family was somewhere 
in a dense thicket in which he disappeared, for 
from his bill dangled an especially fine worm, 
and he himself was a thing of beauty, glancing 
through the sunlight in his glistening feathers 
of white, gray, and black. His reputation for 
cruelity is, however, not unfounded. A farmer 
gave us the benefit of his observations of this 
bird, at the same time declaring that the 
"butcher" birds exhibited a neatness and skill 
in their work that must have been born of long 
habit, or is an inheritance from ancestors who 
were dextrous carvers. 

'T was in harvest time, that heyday of life 
for the shrike, when he convicted himself by 
his bold ways. The corn stalks had been cut 
and stacked, and as the men were carryng these 
away, from beneath one of the piles ran out a 
little field mouse. As the frightened mouse scur- 
ried away through the stubble, down swooped 
a bird, striking him sharply with his powerful 
bill. The mouse stopped as if paralyzed, uttered 
a pitiful squeal, then recovered himself, and 
started away for shelter in the nearest stack, 
252 



TROUBLES IN BIRD LAND 

only to become on its way the recipient of another 
vicious dig. The blows were forceful, but care- 
fully aimed, as if with intent to worry but to 
kill, as a cat would badger a mouse, for a sum- 
mary death would lack the flavor of carnage 
which seemed a special delight to this brigand 
of the air. Flying high, the butcher bird de- 
scended again and yet again upon his victim, 
who, unable to reach shelter and entirely power- 
less to parry the blows rained upon him, ran 
wildly hither and thither. Then the shrike de- 
scended to the ground and ran along after the 
mouse, turning it this way and that, giving it 
a vicious dig whenever opportunity offered. 
The mouse squealed with pain and grew so be- 
wildered and weak that he finally gave up all 
attempts to escape, and cuddled down in a little 
hollow, to be immediately seized by the shrike 
in his bill and carried into the air. From time 
to time, as he made his way to the neighboring 
woods, the bird dropped the mouse, allowing it 
to fall a short distance, descending upon it 
with the swiftness of light and catching it in 
its claws, never once allowing it to fall to 
the ground. This act, several times repeated, 
must finally have squeezed all life out of the 
mouse; let us hope so, at any rate, and that the 
little animal was dead before the shrike disap- 
peared with it into the woods. The act seemed 

253 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

one of sheer cruelty, the bird exhibiting a sort 
of eager delight in seeing how much pain he 
could inflict without killing his victim. Possi- 
bly a scientific turn of mind and a leaning to- 
ward vivisection incited him to the experiment; 
let us judge him as charitably as may be. 

Later, when the plow was turning fresh fur- 
rows through the stubble, this shrike (or another) 
presented himself in search of prey. He followed 
closely in the track of the plow, diligently search- 
ing for worms, and upon finding one almost in- 
variably flew to the top of the stubble. Those 
watching concluded he there swallowed them, 
but a closer inspection revealed a sadder state 
of affairs. Occasionally, it is true, he made a 
short excursion to the woods, carrying a choice 
mouthful, but the greater part of the day was 
spent in balancing himself on the stubble. On 
these sharp points he decoratively hung the 
worms extracted from the soil. Many of these 
were found still wriggling, but others hung 
limply, the executioner having made sure in all 
cases that the thorn had pierced through, firmly 
impaling them. The bird was entirely undis- 
turbed by observation, and spent much time and 
careful thought in placing a worm to his complete 
satisfaction. No matter how frantic were the 
struggles of the worm, it never got away from 
the inquisitor. The number of worms impaled 

254 



TROUBLES IN BIRD LAND 

was much more than sufficient for one family, 
and as birds generally prefer their worms fresh, 
a large amount of this provender must have re- 
mained hanging until blown away by the winds, 
hence the wholesale slaughter seemed absolutely 
without excuse. 



T ? 255 



Chronicles of Summer 

The wind blew him out of the tree-top. 

-"Bra" 

Hs was black, he was brown, he was small. 
He could not walk, he could not fly. A cyclone 
hurried his advent into a world big, and empty, 
and bewildering. The high grass almost sub- 
merged him — a fluttering, disconsolate, lost little 
body, so willing, so absolutely desirous of being 
adopted by anything that wore wings, no matter 
what the color. 

His screams rent the air, and he evidently had 
formed no idea of his own size, for he flopped 
as frantically, and as clumsily after a sparrow 
or a wren that alighted near him as he did after 
folk of his own race and color, — the big, glis- 
tening black-birds. 

"A bee," quaintly says some old writer, "is 
the first summer bird ;" but close upon his heels, 
this year, came "Billy," for, last to leave in the 
fall, first in spring, arrived the crows. 

Late blue-bells are yet in blossom. Swing- 
ing low among the grasses, the bending honey- 
256 



CHRONICLES OF SUMMER 

cups nod 'neath the weight of a bee. Honey-bees, 
bumble-bees, fat, black and golden, curl in heavy 
surfeit on the flower's silken lip; dandelions, 
pierced by a shining lance, fumbled over dron- 
ingly by the "Taster of Sweets," yield nectar 
from their golden fringe. The summer opens 
always with a spring party for the bees, and a 
harvest of bugs for the birds ! "The land," truly, 
"flows with honey," if not with milk! 

By the time the slits of young bird-eyes have 
widened into roundness, from flower, and tas- 
seling-tree buds the parents may gather all man- 
ner of insect provender for even more widely 
opened mouths! 

"Billy" dodged among all this teeming prod- 
igality of sustenance, as I watched him from 
my stone seat under the pine, but his wit did not 
match his appetite — he had yet to learn to feed 
himself. 

And 't was cold, if summer did tremble in 
between icy breezes a day at a time. Patches 
of blue spread themselves along the picket-fence, 
hiding warmly 'neath the gooseberry bushes, lest 
blurry skies let down the sleeting rain, or "scat- 
ter hoar-frost like ashes." 

No longer than a fortnight since buds, and 
branches, and young leaves stood amazedly im- 
prisoned in sparkling crystal, rainbow-hued, ir- 
idescent! In shadow, the thicket of osage, with 

257 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

bending, swinging branches ; tall, over-arching 
elm trees, pendulate with oriole nests, — all 
frostily silver, the magic of sunlight creeping 
inch by inch, the line of summer-time marked 
in yellow-green beneath his wand. 

A rollicking, lilting whistle — orioles daintly 
picking their breakfast from opening elm-buds! 
A meadow-lark (in bravery of lemon-yellow 
vest and velvet cravat), from the fence-post top, 
in delicious melody slurs his six gay notes. The 
pasture is alive with these dandies; they bob up 
like quail from every tiny hillock. Come you 
near the nest, their lure is a broken, fluttering 
wing, and it is only by chance, in the purpling- 
seeded blue-brass, you stumble on a nest most 
rarely made. Made ? Woven around, and around, 
and around, the long grasses drawn down and 
tied one within another, crossing, ever crossing, 
in curious network ; close- fashioned at one end, 
close down upon the ground, ever growing wider- 
mouthed, with an overhanging fringe of grass 
veiling the entrance. And there, in one such 
dry, safe pocket, I found last summer a bevy 
of five naked, pink youngsters, who had just 
reached the sitting-up stage of existence, and 
whose heavy pink abdomens, as though loaded 
with shot, anchored them safely as they sat back 
on two slim little legs, or in trying to move, 
rolled about drunkenly on that very useful part 

258 



CHRONICLES OF SUMMER 

of their economy ! The sound of the scythe was 
heard in the land, the grass was ready for the 
reaper — but much pleading saved the little "home- 
stead" until the young ones could fly into the 
bushes. 

A robin, — careless mother ! — has diligently 
made her house in the shelter of a porch-climb- 
ing crimson rambler. Poor choice of location, 
for the cabin-roof sags low, and pickaninnies pass 
in and out the door, their kinky heads "snag- 
ging" on thorny branches. But serenely uncon- 
cerned sits the feathered "Haus Frau," possibly 
understanding the admonition of the "Mammy" 
before whose door she has built. "Ef yo' chil- 
lun," I heard her warn, waving her pudding- 
stick, — "Ef yo' chillun lay yo' fingeh on dat nes/ 
I gwine bat yo' heads off ! Hyah me ?" 

Natural gas mains cross the meadows; but 
how may a robin wot of that? or forecast a shin- 
ing beam from the tiny window that would pick 
its way straightly, and illuminatingly to her, her 
home, her youngsters, her spouse? Yet such 
was the case. From the grayness of indoors, 
nightly, and in early twilight, fell a bright ray 
of light across the nest, that was just exactly 
on a level with one's eyes. I sit on the shaky, 
rotten platform and watch the parents suddenly 
appear from the dark. The light full shining 
in their eyes they composedly drop "angle-worms" 

259 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

and fly-by-night bugs into four wide yellow 
mouths, then patiently wait for opportunity of 
nest-cleansing. By nine o'th'clock, sleep descends 
in earnest on the brood. The father dreams in 
the "Juniper Tree" close by, and not any number 
of "camp-meetin' chunes" from assembled darkies 
disturb the dozy mother, who now sits warily 
on the nest's edge, half her body over the outer 
edge, half pressed softly above the bodies of 
the just-beginning-to-be-feathered young ones. 
Around the rim, sticking out from beneath her 
feathers and resting on the edge, are four small 
heads ! All this for the purpose of good air, I 
presume, and to keep the vital parts safe from 
the chill of night. And I may as well add, right 
here, that I tried, last night, to have a "K. U." 
man come down and photograph this brood that 
was half-reared by artificial light ; but he was 
at a "May-Day" pageant, and I waited a more 
"convenient season," which never came. 

Ten o'clock, lights out, all 's well ; but the 
winds blew and the rain fell, and at dawn came 
distressful cries. A pickaninny ran up my hill, 
crying out, "Granny says fo' yo' to come down ; 
de bird's nes' done blowed down wid de vines!" 
Sure enough, on the porch amid a tangle of 
rambler-roses lay a soaked and battered nest, and 
four bedraggled, dead little birds. Had the rose 
itself not swung loose from support, the nest 
260 



CHRONICLES OF SUMMER 

would have held through the storm — for, no mat- 
ter how flimsily built, a bird's nest is anchored 
with marvelous security. 'T was useless to as- 
sure the mother we were n't to blame ! We had 
betrayed her confidence, and as we gathered up 
the birds, she flew away, not to return — so far — 
after the catastrophe. I have gone through 
woods after a storm, where huge trees have been 
uprooted ; where they have been snapped off like 
twigs by the mighty wind, and I have found 
but one bird's nest cast loose upon the ground, 
tho' a' many yet clung among the fallen branches. 

Sturdy rose-pink branches of the "hundred- 
leaf" rose hide a secret ! Such hubbub of song ! 
Such fluttering, excited notes. Came I out, 
honestly, only to gather crisp, curly lettuce 
leaves, sprigs of mint, and to make moan over 
thrice-grown potato sprouts, thrice-frosted, all 
dancing raggedly in the breeze, and wind-hur- 
ried from their moorings across earth's brown 
carpet. But I am a trespasser — the birds pro- 
claim it! 

I wish I could make you hear their alarm- 
note — the call of the thrush when danger threat- 
ens. Am I at my desk at the farmost end of the 
house, am I upstairs on household cares intent, 
through all the scale of multitudinous bird-song, 
that one high, questioning note strikes straight 
where it is aimed, and, even before my stumb- 
261 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

ling feet have carried me a' down the stair, I 
know a cat is skulking under the trees, or hiding 
in the grass, or blinking in hypocritical innocence 
on the stable door-sill. The call is high, clear, 
imploring, a sort of slur,— "Oh, come! Oh, 
come!" with an ever rising inflection. Quiet 
falls instantly I am there, experience having 
taught them it means rescue. 

To-day, however, no cat trails her stealthy 
way among the feathery bloom of cucumber 
vine along the fence top. Why such fear? I 
lift a heavy-headed rose. Just below, in dark 
green shadow, sits, still as death, a wee speckled 
thrush ! His bright eyes shine confidently into 
mine, he does not move a feather or utter a cry. 
Fear of anything has not yet awakened in his 
baby breast. Among big, faint-pink fading 
flowers of the overhanging quince tree, the old 
birds close in upon me. The game is up ! What 
w r ill I "do next?" they wonder. For seven min- 
utes, by my watch, I keep my stand, the old 
ones swinging down to look in my face ; and in 
lowest tones whisper "Tir-o'lee !" the little one, 
trusting to luck, does not budge an inch as I 
hold back the branches to watch him. Then I 
give him "Good morning" and a laugh for his 
canny quietness. He only stares, and stares ! 

The wrens, with much ado, made nest in a 
trimly painted, pale-green tobacco box placed 
262 



CHRONICLES OF SUMMER 

under the porch roof. Said the "Judge" "The 
sparrows have taken the box this year," promptly 
emptying out the conglomeration of "feathers, 
and straws, and a wisp of hay," all the time con- 
sidering that the darting wrens were twittering, 
"Thanky, sir." But when they instantly went to 
work, and again collected the stuff and re-made 
their home in the same box, the Judge concluded 
it was time to consult the dictionary, to learn 
that the two species made somewhat similar nests, 
and that he had made a slight mistake in his 
interpretation of bird-language ! 

Snug in an old tin paint bucket in the car- 
riage-shed, another pair of wrens made home. 
Waiting for the fledglings to grow, for "kodak- 
ing," I waited too long, for as I turned my 
camera their way, as if by premeditated signal, 
out above my head sailed the whole bunch of 
five! 

But we left "Billy" — where? Floundering in 
the grass, trying to identify his "kin-folk !" The 
sloping stretches of lawn, gold-green in sunshine, 
are possessed by dozens of black-birds. Among 
them has Billy no place? Apparently not. 

Old birds fly about him, they even walk boldly 
and bow-leggedly up to him to judge of his 
"points." With eager flop, Billy acknowledges 
the attention, hastening to explain that he 's lost ! 
Alertly and arrogantly, they walk away, with 
263 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

high steps. Pursued, they soar into the trees, — 
a totally incomprehensible thing, that, — rising 
from the ground, — to Billy, who, in astonishment, 
stops whimpering to stare ! 

His long wing-feathers are scarcely half out 
of the quill, so it is only by haphazard springs 
that he finally lands on the rim of the drinking 
pan under the trees. There he edges up to every 
bird that comes to drink, shortly tumbling from 
the perch, helplessly. 

Unsummoned, birds of all feathers come to 
study him. Each one, he fondly thinks, will 
claim him, if they would only stop to talk the 
matter over! He chases the flickers, (ant-hunt- 
ing in the grass,) who rise to the tree-trunks 
in great affront, and gaze at him over their 
shoulders. 

Enraged by persistency of following, a jay 
stands and scolds, circled round and round by 
this would-be son, or daughter! A young robin, 
in similar distress, I have seen fed by the "neigh- 
bors," also an orphaned thrush; a cow-bird, in 
dependent at first, then a beneficiary of the spar- 
rows! Young blue-birds, (the mother dying) 
have been raised among a robin brood. 

But a crow-black-bird, I learn, is a bad 
mother, though the race ranks high in bird aris- 
tocracy. Her nest-making occupies much time. 
This spring she made it high in the elm, and it 
264 



CHRONICLES OF SUMMER 

was full half of white, yard-long strips I had 
flung onto the driveway for the other birds. To 
her high-located nest was a long "fly," so, when 
she first came, she concluded to utilize a nearer 
location. She gathered up rags into loop after 
loop, dripping from each side of her mouth, then 
dropped them, and greedily made off to what 
looked to her a more desirable string, sampling 
them all, and finally sheering suddenly into a 
small cedar. 

A heap easier it would be to just decorate the 
nest of a thrasher, so safely hidden within, that 
even / had not yet seen it! Not so easy, after 
all! In a flash, up from the drive darted the 
architects, and out of the tree fled the crow, dis- 
creet, not valorous, leaving festooned on the outer 
branches all her length of white string, to point 
a moral — "Thou shalt not jump thy neighbor's 
claim." 

Valiantly was the nest defended all day, for 
in numbers came the black-birds, chattering about 
the insult to one of their high class. Even the 
spendidly purple males "took to" gathering up 
strings, and made feint of attack, but with no 
success. Ten black-birds, to two small thrashes ! 
But the "battle is not to the strong!" 

Later I found no eggs had yet been laid. 
The nest was finished and awaiting the pleasure 
of its makers to occupy ; but they kept a wary 
265 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

eye on their property, and to-day the female is 
setting. They have nests full of young ones — 
the black-birds, but they must fend for them- 
selves at the earliest stage, for, if the parents 
weary of too vigorous appetites, occasionally 
they are deserted. They show no such patience 
as the flickers, who feed, and feed, and continue 
to feed, the supply invariably equaling the de- 
mand, until the lazy youngsters are almost too 
big to climb out of their hole. 

In looking over Billy, the black-birds have 
a "you're nothing to me!" air that is indescrib- 
able. They fly high and leave him gazing dis- 
consolately heavenward. Righteously angry at 
the birds in default, I gathered Billy up and 
carried him into the house, and, according to 
old legends on the raising of babies, I admin- 
istered to him bread and milk — or I tried to, 
rather. 'T was not the diet his stomach yearned 
for ; he would have none of it. The milk ran out 
of his mouth on both sides, and his bill he shut 
like a clam on the bread, and swallow it he would 
not. In a strawberry box I made his bed, and, 
as is usual with bad babies, he went to bed hun- 
gry. 

Daylight, and Billy's peremptory tones com- 
ing up from the kitchen. I put him out onto 
the grass, hoping for help in his misery, but none 
came, though he shouted himself weak with notes 
266 



CHRONICLES OE SUMMER 

of woe. His guilty progenitors were about some- 
where, but they gave no sign. 

Then, with his breakfast on my mind, I tele- 
phoned to "K. U." "On what shall I feed a 
baby black-bird ? He won't eat bread and milk." 
A laugh came over the wire. "Give him cracker 
and milk ; the bread is too heavy." So, on soaked 
salted wafers I expensively regaled Billy, who, 
with avidity and gusto, gulped them down. On 
this he grew and waxed fat, strawberry-cradled 
by night. By day, hobbled to a string under 
the japonica bush, he called on all the powers 
to help him find his "Mammy." In due time — 
in short time — he learned to walk proudly, and 
even sooner he learned the marvelous accom- 
plishment of flying. 

Anything more surprised than he when the 
birds he followed lifted themselves on wings 
and left him, I have never seen ! He would re- 
lax limply and stare, "Now how was that trick 
done?" 

Society he yearned for, of his own kind, but, 
barring that, he adored, and made confidence 
of, "Jack," an Irish setter. A wee mite of a 
bird, and "Jack," like a giant, looked him over 
daily, undecided whether to "mouth" him or 
ignore him. He would study the midget, then 
turn questioning brown eyes on me, while Billy 
sitting on my hand eagerly croaked about many 
267 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

things. He progressed from "cracker and milk" 
to a diet of angle worms, having only one, at 
first, as dessert, and in not many days he learned 
to forage in the earth-mold for succulent mor- 
sels. 

He was with us for months; was always an 
agreeable companion, with a propensity to steal 
anything that took his fancy ; but the woods and 
the trees, and the streams, and the fields, looked so 
good to him we took him, on a day, over into 
the pasture, and set him free, to probably, in his 
time, repudiate his offspring as he had been for- 
saken. 

Mocking-bird notes rang out of many tree- 
tops this spring. So persistently they filled the 
air with their melody that a cardinal caught the 
song — only a little less varied, less facile. 
Tossed out from the top of a tall cottonwood 
beyond the vineyard, only the glint of scarlet 
betrayed the identity of the singer, as he raptur- 
ously warbled throughout the late afternoon. 
I have known him, in captivity, to catch the notes 
of a canary ; but in the open, this accomplishment 
was wholly new to me. 

On the banks of the Mississippi, 'way down 
in Louisiana, I heard, on a day, the muffled 
notes, in somewhat awkward rendering, of the 
mocker's song in the thicket beyond an aban- 
doned levee. It proved to be a rascally jay per- 
268 



CHRONICLES OF SUMMER 

sonating the "Pride of the South," and chuckling 
with glee at his fancied success. 

At "Linden Plantation," on the banks of 
the Mississippi, the levee protecting the coun- 
try from overflow was moved back nearly a mile, 
and consequently, all buildings of value were 
moved back inside of the new levee. Now birds, 
you know, certainly do have a "home feeling," 
a home love for those who long abide in one 
place and near where they constantly build. 
Thus a mocking-bird had built for long in an 
elm tree in front of a certain house. This house, 
then, following the protection of the levee, was 
carried to the center of a large cotton field, a 
mile from its former position, with not a shrub 
in sight ! What did the deserted mocker ? What 
would any faithful follower do? She came 
swiftly after, and made a nest in a pile of old 
boards and debris piled near the house, rearing 
her brood in the same happy security that had 
protected her always. 

When, in July, the half grass-grown drive- 
way of my farm is alight along its curves with 
the creamy "Candles of the Lord," (flowering 
stalks of the Yucca), whole colonies of domes- 
ticated wood-birds flock adown its length, bring- 
ing with them the season's harvest of youngsters. 
Until September they swing about among the 
bushes, and, when the burning of the leaves be- 
269 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

gin, heaped for lighting on the driveway, they 
all run along the grass at its side, cannily snatch- 
ing at the insects that fly out before the fire, 
just as the chickens do! 

Slipping, sliding, babbling, laughing, dancing, 
singing our brook comes flinging its way across 
sunlit meadows and through ferny hollows ; over 
broad shallows of golden sand, where water- 
birds come to drink and to swim. The lazy 
country road follows its twists and curves, and 
in the thicket of haw-apple-trees, a certain old, 
deep hollow held a blue-bird's nest. 

I, "devotee," daily make my "Novena" to 
the place. I have no "blessed candle" to make 
true my wish of no harm to these three naked 
little youngsters who will, some day, be "blue," 
but I doubt if good "St. Roch" himself could 
insure safety in a country where no ban is put 
upon the persecuting of the birds. 

But I do not worry. How could I, when 
all the lovely world is mine — is any one's — for 
the mere taking. Shining, sun-spread pastures; 
purpling shadows in the forest at high noon; 
piny woods of cathedral quietness, where the 
sun filters goldenly through the fringed trees, 
and crowds of small wood-birds take you into 
most friendly communion. The golden-crowned 
thrush walks with dignity from the bushes, stares 
at you, plodding the road-ruts, and walks back 
270 



CHRONICLES OF SUMMER 

again, in no manner disconcerted. Aromatic 
smells of Araby are shaken from the branches 
at every breeze, and with the melody of bells, 
the crystal-clear water falls over shelving ledges 
all the long way. 

Thus, I, philosopher, bird-questing, wandered, 
well content, under a sky of June. Came I then 
to Mary, the gardener's wife, in tears, and a 
gingham apron ! She sat upon her porch, under 
its snowy luxuriance of an eaves-climbing 
"Baltimore Belle." Evil speakers had talked 
scandal of her — cow! 

"Folks are sayin' she's got the tuberculosis 
in her jaw !" wept Mary. Then outbursts of 
wrath, "Those who talk had better look out!" 
and down into the apron went Mary's tear-wet 
face! Now, Mary's heart is not strong — has a 
tendency to lag; so I loftily counsel. 

"No matter, Mary! Do not be troubled. 
Nothing is worth making yourself ill over! 
Nothing in all the world is worth getting angry 
about-nothing ! Why, I never am angry, never !" 
and so on, and so forth. 

An admiring eye emerges from a corner of 
the apron, and with a friendly pat on her shoulder, 
I go on my pilgrimage. At its end, I find an 
empty nest, and two belligerent birds chasing 
through the air after a bevy of small boys in 
"overalls" who are scudding away into the woods. 

18 271 



UNDER OXFORD TREES 

"Christian Science" meets its Waterloo in the 
wave of wrath that rises up in my heart and 
chokes me ! Back on my steps I fly across the 
brook, up the hill, panting, breathless, to the 
house of my disciple, — Mary. 

"Let me get to the 'phone," I gurgled. I poured 
into that patient ear all my vials of hottest wrath. 
The "game warden" was at the other end of 
the line, and promised prosecution ; but when I 
paused, appeased, perspiring, and looked into 
Mary's awestruck eyes, the full meaning of it 
all came over us, and tears for "Timothy," (the 
bluegrass-loving, tuberculosis cow!), and tears 
for the birds were promptly mixed with tears 
of wildest laughter. To preach is so easy; but 
to practice — "there 's the rub !" 



272 



AUG IS 1911 



One copy del. to Cat. Div. 



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